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“ Straight to the King she went.” 





Stories Always New 

As Told for Children 
BY 

Cora Morris 

»l 

Storyteller TO Children 

Illustrated by Antoinette Incus 



Published, April, 1921 



Copyright, 1921, 

Bt Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 
All Bights Reserved 
STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


TlOtWOOD lPrC06 

BERWICK & SMITH 00. 

NORWOOD, MASS. 

U. S. A. 


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TO ALL THE CHILDREN 
TO WHOM I HAVE TOLD THESE STORIES 
AND 

TO ALL THE CHILDREN 

TO WHOM I SHALL TELL THESE STORIES 
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 



PREFACE 


Dear Little Friends: 

So many of you and your mothers are ask- 
ing, “Where can we find good stories?” that I 
have decided to bring together in a book for 
you some of the stories that I like to tell, just 
as I have told them, and I hope that you will 
like the book. 

I have thought — and thought — of what 
stories you would like best; at first, I thought 
that, of course, these stories must be about 
fairies, because you are all so fond of fairies. 

And then, later, I thought that you would 
like better, stories of your own land, and of 
overseas countries — old stories — and new 
stories — but no matter how often you read 
them — always new. 

And so, in this book, there are stories of 
America, and England, and Italy, and France, 
and Belgium. 

There are stories of the Indians, and of the 
7 


8 


PREFACE 


Pilgrims, in America; and of course, there 
must be stories of Fairies, too, and so there 
are stories of the Fairies in England; and if 
you have never seen a Fairy and you read 
carefully the story — ‘‘Did You Ever See a 
Fairy?” — perhaps — some day — ^you may see 
one. And from Italy there is the story of a 
cat, and another of a dog, and the story of 
“Gigi and the Magic Ring,” and the story of a 
little Italian girl and her Christmas gift. And 
there is “Beaute Dormante,” the fairy tale best 
loved by French children, and the story of 
Jeanne d’Arc — their own Saint Jeanne — ^the 
most beloved saint of the children of France. 
And from Belgium there is — “Sugar-Candy 
House”— 

“The story that the old woman 
who was called Tante Sanna told to 
the little boy who would always be 
talking” — 

and another story, “The Choristers of St. 
Gudule,” at which you will be sure to laugh. 
And there is the story of the little Belgian boy 
who knew and loved our soldiers in Belgium. 

And I hope that when you have read these 


PREFACE 


9 


stories you will feel better acquainted with 
those children of the Pilgrims, who, so long 
ago, came to America. 

And I hope that because you know and love 
the same stories, you may be better friends 
with those children who have come from over- 
seas to live among us and to be, with you, the 
future men and women of America. 

And the name of the book is — Stories Al- 
ways New. 

Cora Morris. 


Note 

Grateful acknowledgment is made to the 
following publishers for permission to use the 
copyrighted material of their publications ap- 
pearing in Stories Always New: Ginn and 
Company, Charles Scribner’s Sons, Macmil- 
lan Company, Frederick A. Stokes Company, 
Houghton Mifflin Company, Dodd, Mead and 
Company. 



CONTENTS 


STORIES OF AMERICA 

PAGE 

*‘My Grandfather Told Me” (Why Turkeys 

Have Red Eyes) 17 

The Coming op the Pilgrims 23 

Little Fear Brewster and Her Doll , . . 

When John Billington Was Lost .... 47 

STORIES OF ENGLAND 

The Fairies 62 

Did You Ever See a Fairy? . . 63 

Tom Thumb 68 

The Little Lame Prince 75 

STORIES OF ITALY 

Pippo AND THE Clever Cat (The Italian “Puss 

in Boots”) .95 

The Story of Moufflou 104 

Ranella (The Italian “Cinderella”) . . .117 

Gigi and the Magic Ring 126 

PlCCOLA 135 


11 


12 


CONTENTS 


STORIES OF FRANCE 

PAGE 

Beaute Dormante (The Sleeping Beauty) . .147 

Jeanne d^Arc .. r«i ... .156 

STORIES OF BELGIUM 

Sugar-Candy House 165 

The Choristers op St. Gudule 170 

The Story op Karel and Patou 181 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘‘Straight to the King she went” (Page 97) Frontispiece^ 

TACING 

PAGE 

There on the doorstep sat Constance Hopkins . . 46*^ 


Away he flew over hill and dale 86*^ 

He did not seem frightened 144“' 

She helped her father tend the sheep .... 158 

Jan and Jannette ran off* as fast as their legs could 

carry them 168 ^ 


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STORIES OF AMERICA 



STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


“MY GRANDFATHER TOLD ME” 

Long ago, when there were no white people 
living in this country of ours, the Indians 
gathered about the camp fires at night and the 
old men of the tribes told stories of fire, and 
water, and the animals, the adventures of men, 
and of the Great Spirit, and instead of be- 
ginning the stories as we do, “Once upon a 
time,” they always said, “My grandfather told 


WHY TURKEYS HAVE RED EYES 

My grandfather told me, that, long ago, in 
a thicket near a river stood the lodge of the 
little gray Rabbit. The little gray Rabbit’s 
father and mother were both dead and his old 
grandmother lived with him and kept house for 
him. They were very poor and some days 

17 


18 


8T0BIE8 ALWAY8 NEW 


they had scarcely enough to eat. One day 
when they sat down to dinner, all that they 
had to eat was one small handful of dried corn. 

Then said the little gray Rabbit, “Grand- 
mother, this will never do. I must go out on 
the prairie and hunt for game.” 

His grandmother laughed and said, “Grand- 
son, you cannot go hunting for game. You 
are too little to hunt for game.” 

But the little gray Rabbit took his game- 
bag and started bravely out over the prairie. 
When he had gone but a little way he saw 
some wild Turkeys feeding among the arrow- 
weeds. 

“Oho!” said the little gray Rabbit, “How 
nice and fat the Turkeys are. I wonder how 
I can catch some of them.” 

He sat down on the ground and thought a 
while. Then he took off his robe and filled 
it with dry grass and rolled it up in a bundle. 

“And now, I think,” said he, “that I can 
catch some of those Turkeys.” He put the 
bundle on his back and began to run. The 
Turkeys heard him coming and lifted their 
heads to look out over the arrow-weeds. “Ho, 


MY GRANDFATHER TOLD ME 19 

little brother Rabbit!” they cried. “Where 
are you going in such a hurry?” 

“Oh, the villagers are giving a dance,” said 
the little gray Rabbit, “ and they wish me to 
sing for them while they dance. I have my 
songs in this bundle on my back, and I am in 
a very great hurry.” 

“Oh, he has his songs in that bundle on his 
back,” said the Turkeys. “How wonderful!” 
And then they called, “Little brother Rabbit, 
stay and sing for us to dance a while.” 

“No, I cannot. I am in a very great hurry,” 
said the little gray Rabbit. 

“No, no! do not go! Stay and sing for us 
just a little while,” begged the Turkeys. 

“Well,” said the little gray Rabbit, “I will 
stay and sing for you to dance a little while, 
but you must make haste. Come and gather 
round me, all of you.” 

All of the Turkeys came and stood in a 
circle around the little gray Rabbit. 

“Now,” said the little gray Rabbit, “I will 
sing for you to dance. You must dance 
round me in a circle, and, as you dance, all you 
fat Turkeys must come quite close to me. 


20 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


And you must all keep your eyes shut tight, 
for if you open them they will turn red!” 

Then the Turkeys began to dance in a great 
circle around the little gray Rabbit, and as 
they danced the little gray Rabbit sat in the 
center and sang: 

‘‘Alas for him who looks! 

Eyes will be red; eyes will be red! 

Alas for him who looks! 

Eyes will be red ; eyes will be red 1” 

And as the Turkeys danced round him, 
every time that a fat Turkey came near him 
the little gray Rabbit caught him and knocked 
him on the head and put him in his game- 
bag. 

But after a while one young Turkey grew 
tired of keeping his eyes closed and opened one 
eye a little, just in time to see the little gray 
Rabbit putting a fat Turkey into his game- 
bag. 

And the young Turkey began to scream: 

“Look ye! Look ye! 

The little gray Rabbit is killing us ! 

Look ye! Look ye!” 


MY QBANDFATBEB TOLD ME 21 

And then all the Turkeys opened their eyes 
and flew away with a great flapping of their 
wings. 

But the little gray Rabbit did not mind for 
he had his game-bag well filled. He was very 
proud to carry it home and show it to his 
grandmother. 

When he came to the lodge he gave the bag 
of Turkeys to his grandmother and said, 
“And now, Grandmother, I must go out to 
find some sticks to build a fire and while I 
am gone you must watch the bag — and you 
must be sure not to open it.” 

The little gray Rabbit went out to hunt for 
wood and the old grandmother sat watching 
the hag. After a while she began to wonder 
what was in it. And then she thought, 
“Surely it can do no harm to open it just a 
little.” And so — she untied the string about 
the mouth of the bag — and out burst the 
Turkeys ! They knocked the old grand- 
mother down and out they flew through the 
smoke-hole; all excepting one small Turkey 
which she managed to catch by the legs. 

And when the little gray Rabbit came and 


22 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


he saw what had happened he was very angry. 

He said, “Grandmother, I told you not to 
open the bag!” 

Then the old grandmother began to weep, 
and she said, “Even so. Grandson. Even so.” 

And when they sat down to eat they had 
only one small Turkey between them. 

And ever since that time. Turkeys have had 
red eyes, and the Indians say that it is because 
they opened their eyes and looked when the 
little gray Rabbit was singing for them to 
dance. 

(Adapted from “Myths of the Red Children” by Gilbert 
L. Wilson. Used by permission of Ginn and Company.) 


THE COMING OF THE PILGRIMS 


A LONG time ago, more than three hundred 
years ago, there were in England a great many 
people who were very unhappy because the 
king would not let them pray to God in their 
own way. The king said that they must say 
the same prayers that he did. Many of them 
would not say the king’s prayers and were 
thrown into prison or punished in other ways. 
After a while these people decided to go away 
from England to a country where they might 
pray to God as they wished, and so the men 
with their wives and children left England and 
went to live in Holland. And then it was 
that they were first called Pilgrims. Pilgrims, 
you know, are people who are always traveling 
about seeking for something which they love, 
or for a better and happier place in which to 
live. 

For twelve years the Pilgrims lived in Hol- 
land. They worked very hard there and they 

23 


24 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


were very poor, and when their children began 
to grow up they were not like English children, 
but spoke Dutch and were like the children 
of Holland with whom they played. The 
Pilgrim fathers and mothers said, “This will 
not do. Our children must grow up to be like 
English men and women. We must seek a 
new home.” 

And so they did a great deal of thinking, 
and they talked together, and they wrote to 
their friends, and at last they decided to leave 
Holland and come to America. And then one 
day the Pilgrim fathers and mothers and chil- 
dren said farewell to their friends in Holland 
and sailed on the ship Speedwell for England. 
There they met a number of their friends who 
had decided to come with them to America, 
and they all started away on two ships, the 
Mayflower and the Speedwell. Before they 
had been out many days they found that the 
Speedwell was not a strong enough ship to 
cross the ocean safely and so both ships went 
back to England. Some of the passengers 
from the Speedwell went on board the May- 
flower, and then the Mayflower, alone, put out 


THE COMING OF TEE PILGRIMS 25 

to sea, and once more the Pilgrims started on 
their journey to America. 

There were one hundred and two people 
on hoard the Mayflower^ — fathers, mothers, 
brothers, and sisters, and little children. It 
was a small ship and they were crowded; the 
weather was cold; the sea was rough; they 
were more than two months crossing, and it 
seemed to the children a long and tiresome 
journey. I think that you would like to know 
who some of the Pilgrim children were. They 
were Mary Chilton, Remember and Mary Al- 
lerton. Faith, Patience, Love, and Fear 
Brewster, four httle sisters; John and Francis 
Billington, two brothers who were always in 
mischief; and Constance and Giles Hopkins, 
a little sister and brother to whom was horn, 
on the way over, a baby brother. All the 
children loved this baby very much and they 
wished to help to name him. Giles asked to 
name him Jan after a playmate in Holland 
but his parents did not wish to give him a 
Dutch name. His sister, Constance, said, 
“Why not name him Ocean because he was 
born out in the middle of the ocean?” The 


26 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


good minister, Elder Brewster, said, “Why 
not name him Oceanus?” And so they named 
the baby, Oceanus Hopkins. 

There were two dogs on board the May- 
flower which were great pets and the children 
ran up and down the deck with them, and 
sometimes they saw great whales sunning 
themselves in the water. But it was very 
hard to think of things to play, that long two 
months on shipboard, when the wind blew and 
the ship rocked, and they had seen not much 
but water everywhere for days and days — and 
sometimes they got into mischief. One day, 
Francis Billington got a loaded gun and shot 
it off in the cabin where was kept a barrel of 
gunpowder. Sparks were scattered about 
and the ship and all on board narrowly es- 
caped being blown up and the voyage ended. 

At last they came in sight of land and the 
Pilgrim children were filled with joy for they 
were very tired of being on the ship. “And 
now,” said Faith Brewster, “we can run about 
and play on the ground and there will be birds 
and flowers.” But the Pilgrim children were 
disappointed for it was cold November and 


THE COMING OF THE PILGRIMS 27 

there were no leaves on the trees and there was 
nothing to be seen but rocks and hard bare 
ground. 

A number of the Pilgrim fathers with brave 
Captain Miles Standish went ashore to find a 
place where they would like to live, and they 
thought, too, that they might find some white 
people there. They went ashore from the ship 
in a small boat. Some of the Pilgrim mothers 
and children went with them. They landed 
on a spot now called Plymouth Rock. And 
who do you suppose was the first person to 
spring from the boat to the shore? — None 
other than the little girl, Mary Chilton! She 
said, “I will be the first one ashore; I will be 
the first to step on that rock!” And if, some 
day, you go to Plymouth, you can see the very 
rock on which she set foot. 

The men went from the ship three times 
before they found the place which they chose 
for a home; a place where there were “fields 
and little running brooks.” They did not find 
any white men, but the first day that they went 
ashore, they saw two Indians with two dogs, 
and the Indians ran away when they saw the 


28 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


white men. They found some dried corn, the 
first that they had ever seen, which the Indians 
had buried in a mound of sand to store away 
for the winter. They dug it up with their 
swords and filled a kettle and their pockets 
with it. After that they saw a great many 
Indians ; some of whom shot at them with their 
bows and arrows, but the most of them ran 
away when they saw the white men. 

For some time the Pilgrims went back and 
forth from the ship to the land, sleeping at 
night on the ship. But on Christmas Day 
they began to build their first house. There 
was snow, it was cold, and they were tired after 
their long journey. They did not have 
enough food to eat or the right kinds, and they 
were taken sick one after the other, until half 
of their number were sick at one time. Those 
who were well cared for the sick. Before spring 
half of those brave Pilgrims had died, but they 
never thought of giving up and going back to 
England. When spring came they had built 
a number of houses on either side of a little 
street. 

Many of the Indians were unfriendly and 


TEE COMING OF TEE PILGBIM8 29 

the Pilgrims had always to carry their guns 
about with them for fear of an attack by these 
Indians. But one day, in the early spring, 
much to their surprise, an Indian, without any 
show of fear, walked straight down the street 
to the store-house where a number of men were 
gathered together, and said, in very good Eng- 
lish, “Welcome, Englishmen!” His name 
was Samoset and he had come from a tribe of 
Indians in Maine. He had met English 
fishermen and had learned from them to speak 
English. 

Samoset was very friendly and he told the 
Pilgrims many things which they wished to 
know about the Indians. He also carried 
messages from the Pilgrims to the Indians, 
who, when they learned that they had nothing 
to fear from the Pilgrims, came to visit them 
and to bring their furs to trade with them. 
With Samoset, one day, came the great chief, 
Massasoit and a number of his warriors to 
promise to the Pilgrims their friendship. 

And Samoset brought to the Pilgrims an- 
other Indian, named Squanto, who, also, could 
speak English. Squanto stayed mth them 


30 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


and taught them how to plant their corn and 
peas and barley and wheat. One day, John 
Billington, one of the children who was always 
in mischief, and brother of Francis Billington, 
who had nearly blown up the MayfioweTj 
wandered away and was lost in the woods. 
The Pilgrim fathers and S quanto with a num- 
ber of other Indians searched for several days 
for him and at last they found him with a 
tribe of Indians some distance away. Had it 
not been for S quanto he would not have been 
found. 

During the summer the Pilgrim children 
were very happy, playing in the sunshine, 
among the flowers, and in the cool pine woods 
near by. And they had a new little playfellow 
— there had been born to a Pilgrim father and 
mother another tiny Pilgrim baby and his 
name was Peregrine White. And sometimes 
an Indian squaw came bringing her little 
black-eyed papoose, and the children stood 
about, with eyes wide open, looking at him in 
his queer cradle hung on his mother’s back. 
And sometimes, too, the older Indian children 


THE COMING OF TEE PILGRIMS 


31 


came, and then they ran races together and 
shot with bows and arrows. 

When fall came, the Pilgrims harvested the 
crops of corn and wheat and barley. They 
found that they had scarcely enough to last 
through the coming winter ; yet such was their 
faith in God and their thankfulness to Him 
for all his goodness to them that the Pilgrim 
fathers and mothers and children gathered to- 
gether in their church and gave thanks to Him. 

And then. Governor Winthrop said that 
they would have a thanksgiving feast and in- 
vite all of the friendly Indians to come and 
rejoice with them. He sent four men out 
hunting and they brought in five deer and 
many wild ducks and turkeys. The Pilgrim 
mothers cooked the deer meat and roasted the 
ducks and turkeys and made bread and cake. 
And the Pilgrim children stood about and 
watched their mothers, just as you watch your 
mother cook the Thanksgiving dinner. And 
they helped some, too. 

On the day of the feast, the Indians came, 
ninety of them, with their chief, Massasoit — 


32 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


all dressed in their very best. They were 
dressed in deerskins; in their hair were foxes’ 
tails, and from their arms hung the skins of 
wild cats. And some of them had their faces 
painted across in streaks of black and white, 
or black, red, and white. 

The Indians stayed three whole days, and 
they ran races, and danced, and played games 
with the children, and shot at a mark with 
their bows and arrows. And at each meal, be- 
fore eating, the Pilgrims and the Indians 
thanked God for his goodness. And they had 
the first Thankskiving Day in our country. 

And so a year had passed since that cold, 
stormy December when the Pilgrims had 
landed at Plymouth. They had lived in fear 
of unfriendly Indians; they had many times 
been cold, and hungry, and sick, and sad; 
more than half of their number had died — and 
still those brave men and women had no 
thought but to make for themselves a home in 
a country where they and their children might 
live and worship God as they chose. 

And this is the story which fathers and 
mothers and grandfathers and grandmothers 


THE COMING OF THE PILGRIMS 33 

tell to-day to their children, of how, three 
hundred years ago, a little band of Pilgrim 
fathers and mothers and children came to 
America, and of how brave they were, and 
of how much we owe to them. 


(Version by the Story-teller.) 


LITTLE FEAR BREWSTER AND 
HER DOLL 


In a log house, on the one street of Ply- 
mouth, lived Elder Brewster with his wife and 
four little girls. Faith, Patience, Love, and 
Fear, and Aunt Patience. They had all come 
to America on the good ship Mayflower, ex- 
cept Aunt Patience who had come later. 

It was the tenth of January, the birthday of 
little Fear Brewster, and F aith wished to give 
a birthday present to her little sister, but in 
those days when there were no stores where 
one could buy wonderful toys and dolls, and 
the few toys and dolls which the children had, 
were made at home, often by the children them- 
selves, it was very hard to think of something 
for a birthday present. Faith had thought — 
and thought, and only that very morning had 
she decided what it was to be. It was to be 
— a doll! Not such a doll as you have, with 
curly hair, and eyes that open and shut, and 

34 


FEAR BREWSTER AND HER DOLL 35 

when you squeeze her she will cry. But still, 
quite a wonderful doll. As Faith lay in her 
bed that morning she had planned how she 
would make her. 

Of course, the doll was to be a surprise, and 
so, after breakfast, she had whispered the 
secret to her sister. Love, and asked her if she 
would not coax Fear to go for a walk that 
morning. As soon as they had started. Faith 
took from the wood-box a piece of wood which 
she smoothed with a knife and then she 
whittled a little knob on the end of it, which 
she covered with a piece of white linen for a 
head, and on it, with a bit of charcoal from 
the fire, she drew a face, and with a dried berry 
moistened with water, she stained the lips and 
cheeks red. 

And then, down by the window she sat with 
scissors, needle and thread, and a piece of blue 
linen which her mother had given her. From 
the linen she cut a tiny dress and with neat 
stitches she made it. She made a little white 
apron and a white kerchief, and a little pink 
sunbonnet, too. When they were all done, 
she dressed the doll. She had just finished 


36 


8T0BIE8 ALWAY8 NEW 


when she saw Love and Fear coming from 
their walk. Quickly she ran to the table, 
pulled out Fear’s chair and placed the doll 
on it and pushed the chair well under the table. 

The children came in, their faces rosy with 
the cold. Mistress Brewster was just putting 
the dinner on the table. Love and Fear took 
off their capes and bonnets and hung them 
up on pegs in the wall. And then they all 
gathered about the table. And while they 
stood. Elder Brewster gave thanks to God, who 
“had given them to suck the abundance of the 
seas, and the treasures hid in the sands.” 

They pulled out their chairs to sit at the 
table — and what a surprise for little Fear! 
For a moment she stood speechless, and then 
she caught up the doll and held her close in 
her arms — and then she held her off to look at 
her. And she said, “She shall be named Con- 
stance Hopkins!” Constance Hopkins was a 
little friend of Fear’s who had come with her 
on the Mayflower^ and with whom she often 
played. 

Fear was so delighted with her doll that she 
could scarcely take time to eat her dinner. 


FEAR BREWSTER AND HER DOLL 37 

After dinner she took a nap — and she lay 
down with Constance Hopkins clasped close 
in her arms, and soon she was fast asleep — but 
you could not have told whether or not Con- 
stance Hopkins slept, because, sleeping or 
waking, she never closed her eyes. 

While Fear slept. Patience and Love 
washed the dishes, and Faith swept the kitchen, 
and from its nail in the chimney corner, she 
took down a turkey wing and brushed every 
speck of dust from the hearth. Mistress 
Brewster quietly moved about in the room 
where Fear slept, getting ready the clothing 
which was to be worn to meeting the next day, 
which was the Sabbath. After the clothes 
were well brushed she laid them on chairs, 
ready for the family to wear on Sunday morn- 
ing. 

The Sabbath to the Pilgrims was a holy day 
and no work which could be done the day be- 
fore was ever left over to be done on that day. 
Even the Sunday dinner was cooked on Satur- 
day. 

When the work was finished and Fear had 
awakened from her nap, there came a knock at 


38 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


the door; Patience ran and opened it, and there 
stood John and Francis Billington and Giles 
Hopkins. 

“Come out and play,” said Giles. 

The boys came ‘into the kitchen to wait while 
Faith, Patience, Love, and Fear put on their 
capes and bonnets. 

Fear brought Constance Hopkins, of whom 
she was very proud, to show to the boys. She 
set her on the high wooden settle near the 
fireplace where Francis Billington stood 
warming his fingers. When Fear’s back was 
turned Francis Billington slyly picked up 
Constance Hopkins — and tucked her into his 
pocket, thinking that she would miss the doll 
before they went out of doors and that he 
would have some fun. 

But Fear did not notice that Constance 
Hopkins had disappeared; Francis forgot all 
about her, and they went out to play. 

“Let us build a snow fort,” said John Billing- 
ton, “and Giles and Francis and I will be In- 
dians.” 

They built a fort of snow, and John and 
Francis and Giles stuck feathers in their hats 


FEAR BREWSTER AND HER DOLL 39 

and played that they were Indians attacking 
the fort. The girls hid behind the walls. 
Thick and fast flew the snow balls. Just as 
they were having the greatest fun, they heard 
the “Boom! Boom!” of the sunset gun. 
This meant that the Sabbath Day had begun. 
For the Pilgrims the Sabbath began at sunset, 
Saturday, and ended at the setting of the sun 
on Sunday. The Pilgrim children were not 
allowed to play after the sunset gun was heard. 
The boys started homeward, and Faith, 
Patience, Love, and Fear went into the house. 

Fear went at once to get her doll — but Con- 
stance Hopkins was nowhere to be found. 

“Why, wherever can she be? I am sure 
that I left her on the settle,” thought Fear. 

Mistress Brewster, coming into the room, 
found her looking anxiously all about for the 
doll. 

“Little girls must not play with their dolls 
on the Sabbath Day,” said Mistress Brewster. 
“You will surely And her to-morrow.” 

After the evening meal, the tallow candles 
were lighted and Elder Brewster and his fam- 
ily gathered about the fireplace and spent the 


40 


8T0RIE8 ALWAY8 NEW 


evening reading the Bible and learning verses 
from it. 

The next morning they were awake early 
and up — and still Constance Hopkins had not 
come back. 

The family had breakfast and then they 
had prayers. They did just what work must 
be done and dressed for meeting. Elder 
Brewster covered the fire so that it would not 
go out while they were away and then he took 
down his gun from its place on the wall and 
looked to see that it was ready for use, for 
every man carried his gun with him everywhere 
that he went — even to church, for there might 
be unfriendly Indians near. Faith, Patience, 
Love, and Fear were nearly ready to go to 
meeting. Little Fear was the last to put on 
her cape — she was wondering so hard where 
Constance Hopkins could be that she could 
scarcely dress herself. In those days there 
were no church bells, and when a drum was 
sounded the people came from their homes 
and met together in front of the captain’s 
house, and from there they marched, three 
abreast, to the meeting-house. 


FEAR BREWSTER AND HER DOLL 41 

When the drum sounded, out came Elder 
Brewster and his wife and Aunt Patience and 
the little girls. Fear came last, walking 
slowly. She did not talk, and she seemed to 
have something on her mind. She was still 
thinking about Constance Hopkins. 

When they reached the meeting-house. 
Elder Brewster led his family to their pew, 
which was like a large box with seats around 
the sides. He opened the little door for them 
to go in. First, Love went in, and then Faith 
and Patience and Fear, and last. Mistress 
Brewster. 

Aunt Patience sat with the other young 
girls. 

When all the people were seated. Elder 
Brewster mounted the high steps to the pul- 
pit. The services began with a long prayer 
and reading from the Scriptures. And then 
a hymn was sung. Very few people had 
hymn-books. Elder Brewster read two lines 
of the hymn and the people sang them to a 
tune which they knew. Then he read two 
more lines and they sang them, and so on, 
until they had sung the entire hymn. And 


42 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


then the sermon began. The sermon was 
often three or four hours long. It was very 
hard for the children to sit still and listen dur- 
ing the time because there was so little which 
they could understand. The tiny windows of 
the church, with their diamond-shaped panes, 
gave little light ; the church was quite dim, and 
the children often were very sleepy. 

The boys were not allowed to sit with their 
fathers and mothers. They sat either in the 
gallery or on the high pulpit stairs. They be- 
haved well until Elder Brewster had preached 
about an hour and then they began to grow 
restless. 

Suddenly, Francis Billington felt something 
hard in his pocket. He wondered what it was 
— and, to his surprise — he drew out— Con- 
stance Hopkins! He had forgotten all about 
the doll. On one side of Francis sat his 
brother John, and on the other side, sat Giles 
Hopkins. When the boys saw Constance 
Hopkins they quite forgot where they were 
and they shook with laughter. Francis’s face 
grew very red and he tucked the doll into his 
pocket. Then the boys remembered that they 


FEAR BREWSTER AND HER DOLL 


43 


were in meeting, and sat up very straight and 
tried to look as if nothing had happened; but 
not before the tithing-man had seen them. 

At the back of the room, on a high seat, so 
that he could see every one, sat the tithing- 
man. In his hand he held a long rod with a 
rabbit’s foot on one end, and on the other end 
a rabbit’s tail. When he saw Francis and 
J ohn and Giles laughing, he quietly got down 
from his seat, stole up behind them, and gave 
them each a sharp rap on the head! And 
Francis and John and Giles were suddenly 
very quiet. 

On his way back to his seat, the tithing- 
man saw Goodwife Chilton nodding — and he 
stepped round to her pew and tickled her fore- 
head with the rabbit’s tail. She awoke with a 
start and was very much ashamed to have been 
caught napping. 

When Fear saw Francis Billington take 
Constance Hopkins from his pocket she was 
so surprised that she gave a little gasp. To 
be sure, she had been wondering where Con- 
stance Hopkins was — but she had never once 
thought that she might be right there in church. 


44 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


She saw the boys laugh — and when she saw 
the tithing-man steal up behind them and rap 
their heads with the end of his rod — she 
clapped her rosy fingers over her lips, but in 
spite of that — she gave a soft little giggle. 
Elder Brewster looked sternly at her from the 
pulpit and her mother leaned over and whis- 
pered, “Do you want the tithing-man to come 
and get you, too?” 

Fear shook her head. She was very much 
afraid of the tithing-man. Elder Brewster 
went on with the sermon. Twice more the 
tithing-man turned the hour-glass. In those 
days, but few people could afford to have 
clocks, and so they had hour-glasses. It took 
just one hour for the fine sand in the glass to 
run from the upper part of the glass through 
the tiny hole into the lower part. And then 
the tithing-man turned the glass over and once 
more the glass began to tell another hour. 
When the glass had been turned three times. 
Elder Brewster closed the sermon, the people 
went up to the front and put their offering 
into a box held by one of the elders, and then 
they all marched home as they had come. 


FEAR BREWSTER AND HER DOLL 45 

Soon after Elder Brewster and his family 
had reached home, there came a knock on the 
door. Fear opened the door — and there on 
the doorstep sat Constance Hopkins, gazing 
straight ahead of her from the depths of her 
pink sunbonnet. Francis Billington had left 
her there, on his way from church. 

Fear took the doll inside and her mother put 
her away until the Sabbath Day should be 
ended. 

After dinner Elder Brewster took Fear on 
his knee and said, “Fear, can you tell me the 
lesson for to-day?” 

Fear hung her head for shame. She could 
not remember one word. And then her father 
said, “ ‘Remember the Sabbath Day to keep it 
holy.’ ” 

That afternoon there was another long serv- 
ice (to which Constance Hopkins did not 

go). 

At sunset, the Sabbath Day ended. Mis- 
tress Brewster brought out her spinning — and 
she took from the cupboard — Constance Hop- 
kins. 

For several minutes Fear sat and looked at 


% 


46 


ST0BIE8 ALWAYS NEW 


Constance Hopkins, and then she said, “I 
think that it is best for you not to go again 
to meeting, Constance Hopkins I” 

(Told by the Story-teller.)^ 



There on the doorstep sat Constance Hopkins, 





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WHEN JOHN BILLINGTON WAS 
LOST 


In those days when first the Pilgrims came 
to America, Master and Mistress Billington, 
with their two boys, John and Francis, lived 
on a farm a few miles from Plymouth. 

There were no other children living near 
with whom John and Francis could play, but 
they were never lonely, for they had each other, 
and they were always full of mischief. And 
sometimes they went to Plymouth to visit their 
friend, Giles Hopkins, another boy who had 
come from England with them on the May- 
flower, 

Not far from the farm lived a tribe of In- 
dians. These Indians often came to the house 
to trade their furs for blankets and other things 
which they could not make. One day, a squaw 
came, bringing her little papoose who was very 
ill. She asked the white woman to make him 
well. Mistress Billington took him and cared 
47 


48 


8T0BIE8 ALWAY8 NEW 


for him, and soon he was quite well and fast 
asleep in his queer little cradle. Then the In- 
dian woman hung the cradle, papoose and all, 
upon her back, and went home to her wigwam. 
She was very thankful to Mistress Billington 
and came often to see her, and, once when she 
came, she brought to the boys three arrows. 
John and Francis were much pleased and 
planned to go some day to the forest to find 
an ash- tree from which to make bows to shoot 
their arrows. 

One day, late in August, Master Billington 
said, “Boys, Mother and I must go to-day to 
Plymouth. We expect to be home before 
dark, but if we have to stay until to-morrow, 
just bolt the door and you will be quite safe.” 
Then they made ready to start. Mistress 
Billington set on the table, for the boys, a 
lunch of bread and meat and a sweet cake of 
which she knew they were fond. Master 
Billington told them that they might go fish- 
ing that afternoon, if they would not venture 
too f ar away from home. As they were leaving. 
Mistress Billington said, “If we do not come 
back to-night, be sure not to forget to cover the 


WHEN JOHN BILLINGTON WAS LOST 49 

fire with ashes, before you go to bed/’ In 
those days, they had no matches, and it was 
very hard to start the fire, and so, at night, they 
covered the coals with ashes to keep the fire 
alive until morning. And if the fire went out, 
they had to go to the neighbors for coals to 
kindle it. 

John and Francis sat on the doorstep and 
watched their father and mother until they 
were no longer in sight. For a while they 
played with the dog and her two puppies and 
soon it was time for dinner. They ate their 
bread and meat and sweet cakes and then they 
got their fishpoles to go to the stream to fish. 
As they were about to start, John said, “Per- 
haps we can find an ash-tree, and I can make 
a bow for my arrows. I will take the hatchet 
to cut down the tree. And I will take my 
arrows, too.” 

They started, carrying their fishpoles; John 
carrying the hatchet and wearing on his shoul- 
der a quiver holding his arrows. 

Soon they came to the stream, and at each 
deep, dark pool they stopped and dropped in 
their lines, and from under the bank darted a 


50 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


shining trout — ^there was a sudden jerk of the 
line — a swing of the pole — and on the bank 
lay a fish. 

When they had caught six fish, Francis said, 
“Now, we can go home.” 

“No,” said John, “let us go on a little farther 
and look for an ash-tree.” 

“You go,” said Francis. “I will wait here.” 

John started on, leaving his fishpole on the 
ground beside the stump of a tree. 

When he had gone a short distance, he saw 
an ash-tree, but when he came close to it, he 
found that it was too large. And so, on he 
went, looking all about him for a small ash- 
tree. At last, he found one, and with three 
blows of the hatchet, he cut it down. He cut 
from the tree a piece of wood about twice the 
length of an arrow, and then he sat down on 
a log and with his knife he shaped and 
smoothed it. When it was finished he took 
from his pocket a strip of leather for the string 
and fastened it to both ends of the bow. He 
placed an arrow on the bow, pointed it, and 
drew the bow. Away whizzed the arrow. 
But only for a short distance. After a few 


WHEN JOHN BILLINGTON WAS LOST 51 

days, when the wood had seasoned and dried, 
it would be a fine bow and shoot far and 
straight. 

He ran and picked up the arrow, and then, 
taking up the hatchet, he turned to go home, 
and, for the first time, he noticed that the 
sun had gone down and that it was quite dusk. 

“It will soon be dark,” he thought. “I must 
hurry home. I did not think that I had been 
gone so long. It took a long time to make 
that bow ... I wonder if Francis is still 
waiting for me. I believe I will call to him.” 

“Francis! Oh, Francis!” He called again 
and again, but there was no answer. Francis 
had tired of the long wait and had gone home. 

“I shall soon find the stream where we were 
fishing and I can follow that home,” thought 
John. 

He wandered on for some distance, but there 
was no sight or sound of the stream. It grew 
darker and darker. The underbrush became 
thicker, and he stumbled and fell, and then he 
knew how tired and hungry he was, and he 
knew that it was of no use to try to go farther 
in the darkness. He was lost! He began to 


52 STORIES ALWAYS NEW 

feel quite lonely and frightened. There was 
nothing for him to do but to stay in the woods 
that night, and perhaps, when morning came, 
he could find his way home. 

For a while he stood, leaning against a tree, 
straining his eyes to look about him, and then 
he lay down on the ground which was covered 
with pine needles. Fortunately it was a warm 
night. He tried to sleep. 

At first, the woods had seemed very still, but 
now — there seemed to be sounds all around 
him — the wind in the trees — the rustling in the 
leaves of small wood creatures — ^the breaking 
of a twig, as some larger animal moved about 
— the drowsy peeping of birds — and the hoot- 
ing of owls. Once, a deer passed quite near 
him — and a fox barked in the distance. At 
every sound he started. In spite of the soft 
pine needles the ground seemed very hard. 
He could not sleep. Never before had a night 
been so long. 

The hours passed. At last, the birds began 
to sing the song of the new day, and there came 
a faint glow of light in the east. As it grew 
lighter John stood and looked about him. — 


WEEN JOHN BILLINGTON WAS LOST 63 

Everywhere were trees ; to his disappointment 
— ^there was no sign of a stream or a clearing. 

He did not know from which way he had 
come but he decided to walk toward the ris- 
ing sun. He picked up his bow and arrow 
and started on. He was very hungry. If he 
only had something to eat! He wondered if 
they were having breakfast at home, and he 
thought of his mother’s good bread. He 
looked about and found some shadberries; he 
had never liked shadberries, but these tasted 
very good. He found a spring, trickling from 
its mossy bed in the rocks, and he stooped and 
drank of the water. Several times he stopped 
and shouted — but there was no answer. 

He wandered on and about noon he came 
upon a patch of blueberry-bushes, on which 
hung heavy clusters of the fruit. He sat on 
the ground and gathered and ate the berries; 
for by this time, he was faint with hunger. 
Suddenly, he heard, a httle way off, a crack- 
ling sound in the bushes, and he saw — a bear 
with three cubs! For a moment he was so 
frightened that it seemed as if his heart stood 
still — and then he remembered that his father 


54 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


had once told him that a bear would not harm 
him if he did not frighten or hurt her cubs, 
and so, he sat still on the ground, watching 
them through the bushes. 

The mother bear was big and shaggy and the 
cubs were small and fat and fuzzy. They 
were eating blueberries from the bushes, and 
the cubs — like all young things — ^were so full 
of play that they could scarcely take time to 
eat, and they began to play. They cuffed 
each other, and tumbled about, and bit each 
other — and when the play was too rough, they 
would squeal, and then the mother bear would 
notice that they were not eating, and she would 
growl at them, as much as to say, “Eat your 
dinner r’ Once, during a “real rough and 
tumble,’’ a little cub tried to climb a tree, and 
another little fellow caught him by the leg and 
pulled him down on the ground. He squealed 
and the old bear looked at them and gave a 
low growl, which seemed to say, “You foolish 
children!” When the bear and her cubs had 
eaten their fill of the berries, they trotted away. 

By this time John was beginning to feel 
quite discouraged. Once before, he had wan- 


WHEN JOHN BILLINOTON WAS LOST 55 

dered away and been lost in the woods, but not 
for such a long time, and now he thought of 
all sorts of things which might happen to him. 
He thought of long days and nights, of being 
lonely and hungry, and of meeting unfriendly 
Indians. He wondered if he should ever 
again see his home, and his brother, and his 
father and mother. He was so tired that it 
seemed as if he could go no farther and he sat 
down on a log to rest. He decided that he 
would try to find his way back to the place 
where he had spent the night, and start out 
again from there. A tree stood close back of 
the log on which he sat and he leaned back 
against it and closed his eyes, to rest. When 
he opened them, he saw, standing not many 
steps away, an Indian! He had come so 
quietly that John had not heard him. John 
sprang to his feet and started to run, but the 
Indian threw to the ground his bow, and by 
that John knew that he meant no harm — and 
so he stood still. 

The Indian motioned to John to follow him. 
They had not gone far when they came to an 
Indian camp where there were a number of 


56 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


wigwams, built of poles covered with bark. 
At the sight of the white boy, Indians seemed 
to come from all directions. They crowded 
about John; they looked at him and at his 
clothing, pointed at him, and talked about him 
in their own language which he could not un- 
derstand. They had heard of white people 
from other Indians who had seen them, but 
they had never before seen a white boy — and 
he was a great curiosity to them. At first, 
John was afraid of them, but they seemed 
friendly and soon he lost his fear of them. 

A very old Indian, who was the chief of the 
tribe, led John to his wigwam, and there John 
saw a squaw cooking something to eat. Into 
a large, wooden bowl she put some pieces of 
deer meat, some wild rice, and corn, and water. 
Of course she could not set the wooden bowl on 
the fire, and so, she heated stones in the fire 
and dropped them into the bowl with the food. 
When the stones were cooled she took them 
out and put in other hot stones — and she did 
this until the food was cooked. John thought 
this a strange way to cook, but he was so hun- 
gry that the food looked very good to him. 


WHEN JOHN BILLINGTON W^/Sf LOST 57 

Helping the squaw, was a little Indian girl, 
and, in his queer cradle, swinging from the 
branch of a tree, was a black-eyed papoose, 
playing with a string of shells and bright- 
colored beads. Soon there came to the wig- 
wam the chief’s son, a boy of about John’s 
age. They sat on the ground, and when the 
food was cooked, the squaw set the bowl be- 
fore them and the chief and the boy at once 
began to eat from the bowl. The chief mo- 
tioned for John to eat with them, and when 
they had finished, the squaw and the little girl 
ate what was left. 

That night, John slept on a skin spread on 
the ground, but he was so tired that he rested 
very well. 

Early in the morning the camp was awake 
and astir. The Indians ate hurriedly and 
packed their belongings, for that day they 
were to move their camp to another spot at 
the distance of about a day’s walk. There 
was nothing for John to do but to go with 
them. 

When all was ready they started. The 
chief’s son walked ahead of John as they went 


58 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


through the woods. They could not under- 
stand each other’s language, but he pointed out 
to John, along the way, bird’s nests and 
squirrels and other things. Late that after- 
noon, they came to the new camping-place, 
which was on the edge of a pond. The squaws 
at once began to put up the wigwams and to 
spread out the blankets and skins, and soon 
the camp was in readiness for the night. 

The next morning, when John awoke, he 
was much happier, for he felt sure that his 
father would search for him and soon find him 
and he knew that the Indians would care for 
him until he was found. That day, he and 
the chief’s son ran races, and fished and went 
swimming together in the pond, and they be- 
came very good friends. And so the day 
passed. 

The morning of the second day, as John and 
the chief’s son were about to start away fish- 
ing, a tall Indian walked into the camp, and 
when he saw John, he ran to him and caught 
him by the arm, and began to talk in English 
to him. 

The Indian was Squanto, a very good 


WHEN JOHN BILLINGTON WAS LOST 59 

friend of the Pilgrims. For three days he had 
searched the woods for John. 

Francis had waited a long time for John to 
come back, and then, thinking that he might 
have returned home by some other way, he had 
gone to the house. When it began to grow 
dark, and John had not yet come, he became 
anxious, and several times he went out of doors 
and called — but there was no answer. He 
lighted a candle and set it in the window, hop- 
ing that John might see the light. All night 
long, he watched and waited. In the morn- 
ing, when Master and Mistress Billington re- 
turned, and Francis told them of how John 
had gone away and had not come back, they 
were very much worried. Master Billington 
and Francis went up the stream where the boys 
had fished and into the forest to the place where 
John had cut the ash-tree. On the ground, 
not far from the stump, lay the hatchet, but 
beyond that there was no trace of John. They 
went back to the house, and Master Billington 
hurried to Plymouth, and from there a number 
of the Pilgrim men and Squanto and other In- 
dians started out to search for the lost boy. 


60 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


And after three-days’ search, Squanto found 
him. 

Squanto told the Indians of how John had 
been lost; the old chief gave to John a pipe; 
the chief’s son gave him three eagle’s feathers, 
and John gave to him his knife, and then John 
and Squanto started home. 

Late in the afternoon of the next day, they 
met John’s father and several other men. 

John ran into his father’s arms, crying, 
“Father! Oh, Father!” 

“Him lost! Me find!” said Squanto. 

I cannot tell you how happy Mistress Bill- 
ington was when John came home, for she had 
spent many sad and anxious hours while he was 
lost. 

When John grew to be a man, he never tired 
of telling to his children the story of how he 
was lost in the woods, and of the days which 
he spent with the Indians. 

And, to this day, the pond where Squanto 
found John Billington, is called “Billington’s 
Sea,” in memory of the Pilgrim boy who was 
lost. 


(Told by the Story-teller.) 


STORIES OF ENGLAND 


THE FAIRIES 


The Fairies have never a penny to spend. 
They haven’t a thing put by, 

But theirs is the dower of bird and flower. 
And theirs are the earth and the sky. 

And though you should live in a palace of gold 
Or sleep in a dried-up ditch, 

You could never be as poor as the Fairies are. 
And never as rich. 

Since ever and ever the world began 

They have danced like a ribbon of flame. 
They have sung their song through the cen- 
turies long. 

And yet it is never the same. 

And though you be foolish or though you be 
wise. 

With hair of silver or gold. 

You could never be young as the Fairies are, 
And never as old. 

(From Punch.) 


DID YOU EVER SEE A FAIRY? 


I HAVE heard of children who declared that 
that had never once seen a fairy. Very likely 
if they said this in a garden they were stand- 
ing looking at a fairy all the time. And the 
reason that they were cheated was that she 
pretended to be something else. This is one 
of their best tricks. They usually pretend to 
be flowers because a flower is the thing least 
likely to attract attention. They dress ex- 
actly like flowers and change with the seasons, 
putting on white when lilies are in bloom, and 
blue for bluebells, and so on. They like cro- 
cus and hyacinth time best of all, as they like 
a bit of color, but tulips (except the white 
ones, which are the fairy cradles) they think 
are too bright-colored, and they sometimes put 
off dressing like tulips for days, so that the 
beginning of tulip season is the best time to 
catch them. 

When they think that you are not looking, 


64 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


fairies skip along pretty lively, but if you look 
and they fear that there is no time to hide, 
they stand quite still, pretending to be flowers. 
Then, after you have passed without knowing 
that they were fairies, they rush home and tell 
their mothers that they have had ‘‘such an ad- 
venture !” 

Wherever there are flowers growing, usually 
the most of them are really flowers, but some 
of them are fairies. You never can be sure of 
them, but a good plan is to walk by, looking 
the other way, and then turn round suddenly, 
and maybe you will see one move and then you 
may know she is a fairy ; or you can stand and 
stare at them — and after a long time they can’t 
help winking, and then you may know for cer- 
tain that they are fairies. 

Once there were numbers of them in a cer- 
tain garden which was a famous gentle-place 
(which means a place where fairies often are) . 
Twenty-four of these fairies had an extraor- 
dinary adventure. They were a girls’ school 
out for a walk with the governess and all wear- 
ing their hyacinth dresses. Suddenly the gov- 
erness put her finger to her lips and they all 


DID YOU EVER SEE A FAIRY? 65 

stood still on an empty flower-bed and pre- 
tended to be hyacinths. Unfortunately what 
the governess had heard was two gardeners 
coming to plant new flowers in that very bed. 
They were wheeling a hand-cart with the 
flowers in it and were quite surprised to find 
flowers in the bed. “A pity to take up those 
hyacinths,” said one gardener. “We must,” 
said the other. “It’s the duke’s orders.” 
And having emptied the cart, they dug up the 
boarding-school and put the poor frightened 
fairies in the cart. Of course, neither the gov- 
erness nor the girls dare let on that they were 
fairies, so they w^ere carted far away to a pot- 
ting shed, out of which they escaped in the 
night, without their shoes. 

And as for fairies’ houses — it is no use 
looking for them, because they are everything 
that our houses are not. You can see our 
houses by day hut you can’t see them by dark 
— well, you can see their houses by dark but 
you can’t see them by day. Their houses are 
built of many little pieces of different colored 
glasses and the fairies are always peeping in 
at each other’s houses and pressing their noses 


66 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


hard against the glass — and that is why fairies’ 
noses are mostly — snubby! 

Fairies never do anything that is useful; 
everything that they do is “make believe.” 

The fairies are wonderful dancers. They 
hold great balls in the open air, in what is called 
a fairy-ring. For weeks afterward you can 
see the ring in the grass. It is not there when 
they begin, but they make it by waltzing round 
and round. Sometimes you will find mush- 
rooms inside the ring, and these are the fairy 
chairs which the fairy servants have forgotten 
to clear away. 

When the fairies have a party — if it is in 
May — the table-cloth is made of chestnut 
blossoms. The fairy men climb up the trees 
and shake the branches and the blossoms fall 
like snow. Then the fairy lady-servants 
sweep them together by whisking their skirts 
until it is exactly like a table-cloth. There is 
bread and butter to begin with and cakes to 
end with, and they are so small that there are 
never any crumbs. The fairies sit round on 
mushrooms and are very well behaved. 


DID YOU EVER SEE A FAIRY? 


67 


Fairies never say, “We feel happy,” — they 
always say, “We feel dancyl” 


And now — ^perhaps — if you remember all 
this — and look very sharp all about you — 
some day, you may see a fairy! 

(Adapted from the Little White Bird, by J. M. Barrie; 
Copyright, 1902, Charles Scribner’s Sons.) 


TOM THUMB 


Long ago, there lived on the earth a won- 
derful man named Merlin. Once Merlin was 
traveling through the country; all day he had 
walked and when night came he was very tired, 
and coming to a poor farmer’s house he 
stopped and asked if he might rest a while. 
The farmer and his wife were kind people and 
they invited Merlin to come in, and the farmer’s 
wife gave him some milk and brown bread and 
asked him to stay with them all night. 

The farmer’s cottage was warm and com- 
fortable but Merlin noticed that the farmer’s 
wife looked very sad. In the morning when 
he was about to leave, he said to her, “You 
have a good home. Why are you unhappy?” 
The woman answered, with tears in her eyes, 
‘T am sad because I have no children. I wish 
I had a little boy. I should be the happiest 
woman in the world if only I had a little boy, 
even if he were no larger than your thumb.” 

68 


TOM THUMB 


69 


At this Merlin laughed, for he thought the 
idea of a little boy no larger than his thumb 
very funny. 

On his way home Merlin stopped to see his 
friend, the Queen of the Fairies, and he told 
her about the woman who wished for a little 
boy no larger than his thumb, and he asked 
her to send to the woman a little son no larger 
than a man’s thumb. 

Ten years later Merlin was again traveling 
through that part of the country and stopped 
at the farmer’s house. He found the farmer 
and his wife very happy for they had a little 
son and he was no larger than his father’s 
thumb. 

The farmer’s wife was very proud of her 
little boy and she told Merlin how he was 
named and dressed. 

The Queen of the Fairies flew in at the win- 
dow one morning and kissed the baby and said, 
“You shall be named Tom Thumb.” 

And then, seven little fairies flew into the 
room and they dressed the baby. They gave 
him a shirt made of a spider’s web and a coat 


70 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


of thistle-down. They gave him an acorn-cup 
for a cap, and his shoes were made of a 
mouse’s skin. And then each fairy gave Tom 
Thumb a kiss, and flew out at the window. 

And then Tom Thumb’s mother told Merlin 
some of Tom’s adventures, of which he had a 
great many. 

As Tom grew older he never grew any 
larger than his father’s thumb. One day 
Tom’s mother went to the pastures to milk the 
cow and she took him with her. It was a very 
windy day and she was afraid that the wind 
might blow him away and so she tied him with 
a piece of fine thread to a thistle. The red 
cow saw the thistle, but she did not see Tom 
and she took them both up in one mouth- 
ful. 

Then Tom began to cry, “Oh, Mother! 
Mother!” 

“Where are you. Tommy, my dear 
Tommy?” cried his mother. 

“Here, mother, here, in the red cow’s 
mouth!” 

Then the poor woman began to cry and 


TOM THUMB 


71 


wring her hands, but the cow, surprised at the 
queer noise in her mouth, opened her mouth 
and let Tom drop out. His mother caught 
him up in her apron and ran home with him. 

One morning Tom’s father was going to 
work in the field. Tom wished to help him, 
and said, “I will go with you and drive the 
horse home.” 

His father laughed and said, “You are so 
little you cannot hold the reins. How can you 
drive a horse?” 

“Oh,” said Tom, “I will sit in the horse’s 
ear and tell him which way to go.” 

When they came to the field, Tom’s father 
put him in the horse’s ear, and went to his 
work. 

When Tom’s mother saw the horse coming 
home alone she was frightened and she ran out 
to see what was the matter. 

“Mother, take me down,” Tom cried. 

“Where are you. Tommy, my dear 
Tommy?” cried his mother. 

“I am in the horse’s ear,” said Tom, “I sat 
here to tell him which way to go.” 


72 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


Tom’s mother was very glad that he could 
be a help to his father. She took him into the 
house and that day she gave him half of a 
blackberry for his dinner. 

Tom’s father gave him a whip made of 
barley straw with which to drive the cows. 
One day when he was driving home the cows 
he fell into a hole in the ground. A large bird 
was flying overhead. She saw the straw and 
thought that she would like it for her nest. 
So down she flew and caught up Tom and his 
whip. As she was flying over the river she 
dropped Tom and down he fell into the water. 
A big fish saw Tom and swallowed him. 

A man soon caught the fish and it was such 
a large one that he thought it would be a fine 
present for the king, and so to King Arthur 
he sent it. 

When the fish was opened, out jumped Tom 
Thumb. 

The cook set Tom in a dish and sent him 
up to the king. And how the king laughed 
when the cover was taken from the dish and he 
saw Tom Thumb! 


TOM THUMB 


73 


“Was not that a dainty dish 
To set before the king?” 

King Arthur was very fond of Tom Thumb 
and he soon became a great favorite at court. 
When the king rode out on horseback he often 
took Tom with him, and if a shower came up, 
Tom would creep into the king’s pocket and 
sleep there until the rain was over. 

By this time the clothes which the fairies had 
given to Tom were old and worn and King 
Arthur gave to him new clothes. 

And now his shirt was made of a butterfly’s 
wings and his boots of a chicken’s skin. At 
his side hung a needle for a sword, and his 
horse was a little white mouse. Tom was very 
proud of his sword and his horse, and thus 
strutted Tom in stately pride. 

King Arthur made him one of his knights. 
He said, “You shall be called Sir Tom 
Thumb.” 

Tom often rode with the king and his 
knights. One day when they were riding in 
the country, a big black cat ran out of a farm- 
house and sprang at Tom’s horse. Tom 
fought the cat with his sword and nearly lost 


u 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


his life. The king’s knights came up and 
saved Tom, but his horse was dead. 

And then King Arthur gave to Tom Thumb 
a coach drawn by six little white mice. 

• • • • • • , • 

And these are the adventures of Tom 
Thumb, as his mother told them, long ago, to 
Merlin. 

(“Tom Thumb,” adapted from the story as it appears in 
Blaisdell’s Child Life Second Reader, used by permission of 
the Macmillan Company, publishers.) 


THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 


J UST think of having a fairy godmother, and 
whenever you said, ''Abracadabra, dum, dum, 
dumf* the most wonderful things would 
happen to you! 

The little Prince of Nomansland was the 
most beautiful prince that ever was born. 
Every one said so — and it was really true — 
and his father and mother, the King and 
Queen of Nomansland, were very proud of 
him. 

When the little Prince was six weeks old, he 
was to be christened. At last, the christening 
day came, and it was as lovely as the Prince 
himself. By six in the morning all the royal 
household had dressed itself in its very best; 
and then the little Prince was dressed in his 
best — his magnificent christening robe. The 
company arrived; also the four-and-twenty 
godfathers and godmothers, chosen by the 

75 


76 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


King. They came to the palace, walking two 
by two, with their coronets on their heads. — 
being dukes and duchesses, and princes and 
princesses — and they all kissed the little Prince 
and made much of him. And then they went 
to the chapel for the christening ceremony. 

Such a procession! Heralds in blue and 
silver; pages in crimson and gold; and little 
girls dressed in dazzling white, carrying bas- 
kets of flowers, which they strewed all the way 
before the nurse and child; the King, walking 
alone — the poor Queen was ill and could not 
come to the ceremony — and finally, the four- 
and-twenty godfathers and godmothers. 

“It’s just like fairyland,” whispered one 
little girl to another, as she shook the last rose 
from her basket, “ and I think the only thing 
the Prince wants now is a fairy godmother.” 

“Does he?” said a soft voice, and there 
stepped out from among the gay crowd some- 
body — not a child, yet no bigger than a child — ' 
somebody whom nobody had seen before, and 
who certainly had not been invited to the 
Prince’s christening. 

She was a little old woman all dressed in 


TEE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 77 

gray. Her hair was gray and so were her 
eyes, and her smile was as sweet as the Prince’s 
own, which he gave to her when she softly laid 
her hand on him. 

“Take care! Do not le^ the baby fall 
again,” she said to the nurse. The nurse 
turned pale — for that morning on the way to 
the christening she had stumbled and let him 
fall, just at the foot of the marble staircase. 
He had cried a little and he still looked pale — 
but she had not supposed that any one knew. 

“I am his godmother and I must kiss him,” 
said the little old lady in gray, and before any 
one had a chance to stop her, she stood on tip- 
toe and gave to the baby Prince three kisses. 
And the little Prince smiled his sweetest smile 
at her. And she said, “Your name shall be 
Prince Dolor in memory of your mother 
Dolorez.” 

And when they looked again — the little old 
woman was gone. 

And his father, the King, said that he should 
be named Prince Dolor. Everybody loved 
little Prince Dolor and was kind to him, but 
after the day of his christening he was not well; 


78 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


he was pale and thin, and his poor little legs 
did not grow as the rest of his body did, and 
when he was a year old his nurse tried to make 
him stand, but he only tumbled down. The 
fall, on his christening day, had hurt him so 
that he could not walk. A great many doctors 
came to see him, and none of them could do 
anything to help him. . But as he grew older 
he became stronger. 

While he was still quite young his father 
died. His uncle then became King until 
Prince Dolor should grow to be a man. His 
uncle was a wicked man and did not wish the 
little Prince ever to be King. He wished al- 
ways to be King himself. He brought to the 
palace to live, his wife and his seven sons. 
Very fine the King and his sons looked when 
they rode out on their horses, and whenever 
they were seen, the people cried, “Long live 
the King! Long live the royal family!” 

And as for the little Prince Dolor, he was 
very seldom seen by anybody — and after a 
while, the little lame Prince was quite forgot- 
ten. 

All this time. Prince Dolor was living in the 


THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 79 

palace ; sometimes being carried about in a foot- 
man’s arms, or drawn in a chair, or left to play 
on the grass — often with nobody to mind him; 
a little boy with a face just like his mother’s — 
one of the sweetest faces in the world, and a 
smile for every one. He could not help it, 
and perhaps he did not know it, but there was 
something about him which made bad people 
sorry, and grumbling people ashamed of them- 
selves, and ill-natured people gentle and kind. 

At first, the King told the people that 
Prince Dolor was ill, and then, later, he said 
that he was dead, and for a while they were 
sorry, but they soon forgot the little lame 
Prince. And Prince Dolor was seen no more. 

The truth of the matter was this : 

Far away beyond the Beautiful Mountains 
was a high tower, more than a hundred feet 
high. In the very top of the tower was a per- 
fect little house with four rooms, as safe and 
as cozy as a bird’s nest on the top of a tree. 
Here were lots of books and toys and every- 
thing that a child could wish. But it was a 
lonely place for a little boy to live with no one 
for company but his nurse. To this tower 


80 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


Prince Dolor’s uncle sent him and his nurse. 

His nurse was very kind to him, and at first 
he was quite happy, crawling about from room 
to room, but as he grew older he would sit at 
the windows and look sadly at the sky above 
and at the ground below. He was lonely. 
His nurse taught him to read and to write. 
After he had learned to read he would sit for 
hours poring over his books, and he began to 
long to see the world, of which he read. He 
would think that if he could only fiy out of the 
window, up to the sky or down to the earth, 
how nice it would be. 

“I wish that I had somebody to tell me all 
about things,” he thought, “some one to really 
love me. Oh, I want somebody — dreadfully 
— dreadfully!” 

As he spoke, there sounded behind him a 
slight tap-tap-tap, as of a stick or cane, and 
twisting himself round, he saw — ^what do you 
think he saw? 

A little old woman with gray hair and eyes, 
and her dress was gray, and she had the sweet- 
est smile, and when she spoke, it was in the 
softest voice. 


THE LITTLE LAME FRINGE 81 

She laid her tiny hands on his shoulders. 
‘‘My dear little boy,” she said, “I am your god- 
mother. I could not come to you until you 
said that you wanted me. And now I will 
come to you whenever you want me, but you 
must not let your nurse know of my visits.” 

The Prince was very happy and they talked 
together for a long time of many things. 
Finally, she said: 

“And now I must leave you, but I will give 
you a present — something as good as myself 
to amuse you — something that will take you 
wherever you wish to go, and show you all that 
you wish to see.” 

“What is it?” said the Prince. 

“It is a traveling-cloak, and when you wish 
to use it, you have only to say, ^Abracadabra, 
dum, dum, dum/ and it will take you wherever 
you wish to go.” 

Just at that moment they heard the nurse 
coming. 

“Hush! she’s coming with my dinner,” said 
Prince Dolor. 

“Then I must go,” said the fairy godmother. 
“Whenever you want me, I’ll fly in at the win- 


82 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


dow, or down through the chimney. All that 
you have to do is to wish for me.” 

And then — the fairy godmother — melted 
away — just like a rainbow out of the sky. 

On the floor beside Prince Dolor lay a little 
bundle, like a handkerchief rolled into a ball, 
which he quickly tucked into his pocket. It 
was, though he did not know this, his wonderful 
traveling-cloak. He kept it hidden away until 
the next morning after lessons. When he 
opened it, it did not look like anything wonder- 
ful at all — but just a round piece of dark green 
cloth, worn and shabby. He put it about his 
shoulders — it was warm and comfortable. 
“But it is of no use to me,” said the Prince. 
“I never go out of doors.” 

He folded it carefully and put it away in a 
corner of his toy-cupboard. 

Soon after that, he fell ill and as he lay on 
his little bed he thought of his godmother, and 
he said, “Godmother, dear, have you quite for- 
saken me?” and suddenly he felt a soft kiss on 
the back of his neck — and there beside him was 
the httle gray fairy godmother. How glad he 
was to see her! 


THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 83 

‘‘And now tell me what has happened to you 
since I last saw you,” said she. 

Prince Dolor told her how lonely he had 
been and that he had wished that he could be 
a bird and fly away. 

“Oh, I wish that I could be anything but 
what I am!” he cried. 

“But you mustn’t do that,” said the fairy 
godmother. “You can’t make yourself any 
different, nor can I do it either. You must be 
content to stay just what you are.” And then 
she told him that although he would never be 
able to walk, or run and play, like other little 
boys, he could make for himself a very happy 
life. 

“And I will help you,” she said. 

Prince Dolor turned pale and his lips quiv- 
ered but he did not cry — ^he was too brave for 
that. 

“And now, where is your traveling-cloak?” 
said the fairy godmother. 

“In the cupboard,” said the Prince. 

“Oh, but you must use it, some day,” said 
the fairy godmother. 

“When you wish to go traveling on it, spread 


84 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


it on the floor and set yourself down in the 
middle of it, and say, ^Abracadabra^ dum, dum, 
dnm ! — and see what will happen. — And when 
you wish to come back again, say. Abracada- 
bra, turn, turn, ti/ " 

And suddenly — there was a soft little breath 
of air — and the fairy godmother was gone. 

The very next day, he took from the cup- 
board the little bundle, all tied up so very 
tight with many knots, and sitting on the floor, 
he patiently imtied all of these knots. And 
then — a wonderful thing happened — the cloak 
began to undo itself. Slowly unfolding, it 
laid itself down on the carpet, as flat as if it 
had been ironed, the edge turned up all around, 
and it grew — and it grew — until it was quite 
large enough for Prince Dolor to sit in it as 
comfortable as if it had been a boat. 

The Prince watched it; his eyes large with 
amazement — it was a most extraordinary 
thing! 

Then he sat down in the middle of it, waiting 
for something to happen next. Nothing hap- 
pened, and then he remembered the words 
which his godmother had told him to say. 


THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 85 

^"Abracadabra, dum, dura, dura,'" said he. 
And then — and then — ^the cloak rose slowly 
and steadily, higher and higher, till it nearly 
touched the skylight, which his head gently 
bumped against. He drew the holt and 
pushed up the skylight — and out he sailed — 
into the clear, fresh air — ^with the blue sky 
above and the earth below. 

Prince Dolor had never felt such happiness 
before. 

Away he flew — just as if he were on the 
back of a large bird — over hill and dale. He 
sailed about for a long time — and then the 
stars came out — first two or three, and then 
so many that he could not count them; the 
breeze began to blow cold, and the dew to 
fall — and he gave a little shiver. 

“Perhaps I had better go home,’’ he thought. 

But he could not think of the magic words 
which he must say to turn about. The cloak 
flew faster and faster until he became quite 
frightened. What if the cloak should keep 
on traveling, perhaps to the world’s end. 

“Dear Godmother,” he cried, “do help me. 
Tell me once again.” 


86 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


And then suddenly the Prince remembered. 
^^Abracadabra, turn, turn, tV' — and — slowly — 
the cloak began to turn, and started back. 
When he reached the tower he found the sky- 
light just as he had left it; he slipped in, 
cloak and all. He had scarcely reached the 
floor and was sitting on it, still in the middle 
of the cloak, when the door opened and his 
nurse came in. 

“Bless us!’’ said she, “what has become of 
your Royal Highness? Have you been sit- 
ting here in the dark all this time?” 

It was so dark that she could not see the 
cloak, and while she was speaking, it folded 
itself up, tied its own knots, and rolled away 
into the farthest and darkest corner of the 
room, and was quite hidden from sight. 

The nurse lighted the candles and brought 
in Prince Dolor’s supper, and for the first 
time in his life he was very hungry. 

And when he was left alone at last, he 
crept into his little bed, and for a long time 
he lay awake, thinking of the sky and the stars 
and the wonders of the earth. “I must be 
awake very early to-morrow morning, and 


THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 87 

get my lessons done, and then I’ll go travel- 
ing all over the world on my beautiful cloak,” 
he thought. 

The next day, he opened his eyes with 
the sun, and went with a good heart to his 
lessons. 

The minute that the lessons were done and 
he was left alone, he crept across the floor, 
got the little bundle, untied the knots, and 
soon he was sitting on the cloak. '"Abracada- 
bra^ durriydum, dum'" he said, and, “in a few 
minutes less than no time,” out through the 
skylight he went, and away he floated 
through the air, seeing all sorts of wonderful 
things. 

“I wish that I had a pair of glasses like my 
nurse wears, so that I could see things on the 
ground better.” 

He had scarcely said the words, before, there 
on his nose was a pair of beautiful little gold 
spectacles, and looking downward, he could 
see so plainly, every blade of grass, every tiny 
bud and flower. And then, looking up, in the 
distance he saw a long string of birds, flying 
one after the other. 


88 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


‘‘Gee-up, gee-up!” he cried. “This is as 
good as riding a race.” 

But after a while he was cold and hungry. 

“I am hungry,” he said. And there before 
him, on the cloak, was most delicious food. 

“I am cold,” he said. And no sooner had 
he said the words, than he felt stealing over 
his knees something soft and warm. It was 
a most beautiful bearskin, which folded around 
him and cuddled him up close and warm. 
And then he shut his eyes and fell asleep. 

When he awoke he was floating over a river, 
and there were trees, and the cloak dipped 
down so low that he could touch their leaves 
with his Angers. He saw horses and cattle, and 
a shepherd boy tending his sheep. To his joy, 
he heard a skylark singing, as it mounted 
higher and higher from the ground, till it came 
quite close to him. 

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful bird!” he 
cried. After a while he found himself float- 
ing over a beautiful country, he heard a sound 
like the hum of bees, and far, far below him, 
he saw a great city. 

And then he turned and went back to the 


THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 89 

tower. And that night as he lay on his little 
bed, he still seemed to hear the song of the 
skylark. 

One day, not long after that, he startled his 
nurse by saying, ‘‘Nurse, what is a king? 
Shall I ever be one?” 

And then his nurse, who really loved him, 
said, “You are a king!” And she told him of 
how his parents had died, and how his uncle 
had taken the crown from him and made him- 
self king, and had sent him to the tower. 

Prince Dolor, as he listened, grew pale, and 
then he sat up very straight. For, somehow, 
boy that he was, when he heard that he was a 
king, he felt — like a king. 

That night he slept but little. There were 
so many things for him to think about. 

He awoke early the next morning and was 
out of bed and began to dress himself. “I 
must learn to do things for myself, now,” he 
thought. 

“Fancy a king being dressed like a baby!” 

When he was dressed, he took from the 
corner his traveling cloak and soon was out 
through the skylight. That day he traveled 


90 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


far to the wonderful city, and hanging over it, 
he looked down on its houses and streets. 

At night, when Prince Dolor came to the 
tower, he found it empty and still. His nurse 
was gone. The messenger had come that day 
from the city, bringing food, and he had told 
the nurse that the Prince’s uncle, the King 
was dead. She had had a chance to escape 
from the tower and she had gone. And now. 
Prince Dolor had to take care of himself as 
best he could. At first, he was lonely and 
frightened, for never before had he been left 
alone. 

“What in the world am I to do?” he thought. 
And then he remembered a saying which his 
nurse had taught him: 

‘Tor every evil under the sun 
There is a remedy, or there’s none; 

If there is one, try to find it — 

If there isn’t, never mind it.” 

“I must make the best of things — and there 
will surely be some way out of my troubles,” 
he thought. 

For five days he stayed alone in the tower, 


THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE 


91 


and then, one day, he heard a sound in the dis- 
tance. It was the sound of a trumpet ! 

What had happened was this: 

When the nurse had reached the city, she 
had told of the little lame Prince who was shut 
up in the tower — ^the Prince who was now 
King. And the people were overjoyed to 
hear that the son of their good King and the 
beloved Queen Dolorez was still living. 

“Hurrah for Prince Dolor! Let Prince 
Dolor be our king!” they cried. And soon, 
at the foot of the tower. Prince Dolor saw 
many men, and they hailed him as Prince and 
King. 

And there in the tower, they crowned him 
King. And he said, “I will be your king. 
And I will do my best to make my people 
happy.” 

And so. Prince Dolor became King of No- 
mansland and left the tower to live in a royal 
palace. And his reign lasted many long years, 
and the country was happy and prosperous. 

And then, one day, when the King was an 
old man with white hair, he told his people that 


92 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


he wished the son of his uncle, who had grown 
to be a fine, manly Prince, to be King in his 
stead. He felt that his time had come to leave 
them. And taking from his pocket a little 
bundle and unfolding it, he laid it on the 
ground, said a few words — and away he floated 
through the air — and was seen no more. 

Perhaps his fairy godmother took him away 
to live somewhere beyond the Beautiful Moun- 
tains. 

(Adapted from the story by Miss Mulock.) 


STORIES OF ITALY 


y 



PIPPO AND THE CLEVER CAT 
(The Italian “Puss in Boots”) 

Once upon a time, or, as they say in Italy, 
^^C'era v/na volta/^ there lived in the city of 
Naples in that country an old man “so poor 
that he had not two pieces of money to rub 
together.” He had two sons, Oratiello and 
Pippo. When he was about to leave this 
world he called his sons to his bedside, and to 
the elder, Oratiello, he gave a sieve, and to the 
younger, Pippo, he gave a cat; this being all 
that he had to leave to them. Then he closed 
his eyes and died. 

Oratiello took the sieve and went from place 
to place shelling corn to earn a living. Pippo 
took the cat and said, “What am I to do? My 
brother can earn a living with his sieve. What 
has my father left me? — A cat! I cannot 
support myself and now I have two mouths to 
feed! All that I can do is to kill the cat and 

95 


96 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


sell her skin. Then what will be left? I 
shall soon die of hunger.” 

The cat heard these words, and looking up at 
her master, she said, “My master, ’tis far bet- 
ter to be lucky than rich, for with luck one 
may become rich; but with riches one doesn’t 
always have luck. If you will but trust me, 
I can bring to you both happiness and for- 
tune.” 

Pippo did not see what the cat could do to 
help him — ^but he knew that she was a very 
clever cat, for he had seen her play many 
tricks when she was trying to catch mice. 
And besides, to whom else could he look for 
help? And so he said, “I thank you, Puss, 
and to your care I trust my future.” 

That very morning, the cat went down to the 
bay and climbing out on the rocks, sat there 
and watched until she saw a fish swimming 
near, and then into the water went her paw, 
and in her claws, out came the fish. It was 
a fine large dory. At once she went to the 
palace, carrying the fish as a present to the 
King. 

Arrived at the palace, in among the lords 


VIPPO AND TEE CLEVER CAT 97 

and ladies Puss walked, proudly carrying her 
fish. Straight to the King she went, and lay- 
ing her gift at his feet, she said, ‘'My master, 
the Lord Pippo, your Majesty’s most humble 
servant, sends this fish as a slight token of his 
regard, to your Majesty, the King.” The 
King was much pleased, and bowing and smil- 
ing, made reply, “Tell this lord, whom I do not 
know, that I thank him for this gift.” 

Every day after that Puss came to the 
palace bringing a present to the King. 
Sometimes she brought fish, but more often 
she brought game. For Puss would go to the 
fields and when the hunters brought down 
game, quickly she would snatch it up — some- 
times it was a blackbird; sometimes a lark — 
and she would hurry away with it to the King. 

She was, indeed, a very clever cat. 

One day the King said to Puss, “I am so 
much indebted to your master, the Lord 
Pippo, that I should like to meet him and 
thank him for all the gifts which he has sent 
to me.” 

Then Puss made answer, “My Lord Pippo 
is at your Majesty’s service. He would lay 


98 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


down his life for you, if there were need. To- 
morrow morning, with pleasure, he will come 
to pay to you his respects.” But the next 
morning, at the time when Pippo was ex- 
pected, Puss dashed into the palace and said, 
“Sire, my master, Pippo, begs your Majesty’s 
pardon for not coming this morning. Last 
night he was robbed by some of his servants, 
who stole all of his clothing from him.” 

When the King heard this he at once com- 
manded that his servants take from his own 
wardrobe clothing of the finest silk and linen, 
and carry it to Pippo; and before two hours 
had passed, Pippo, dressed in this fine clothing 
and followed by the clever cat, entered the 
palace. There the King received him, invited 
him to sit by his side, and gave for him a splen- 
did banquet. 

Pippo was not accustomed to such splendor, 
and from time to time he whispered to the 
cat, “Look out, Puss, some one may steal our 
wraps. Pray keep watch of our things.” 

Puss was ashamed of him and made answer, 
“Hush! Do not speak thus of our friends.” 

The King asked what his guest was saying. 


PIPPO AND THE CLEVER CAT 99 

Of course Puss did not wish the King to know 
of the meanness of her master in thinking that 
any one who had shown him such kindness 
would steal his coat or hat, and so made 
answer, “I think that my master would like 
a lemon.” The King sent at once to the gar- 
den for a basketful of lemons. But no sooner 
had the lemons been brought than Pippo again 
said, “Pray, Puss, keep watch of our things.” 

Again the King asked for what his guest 
wished, and Puss said, “I think that my master 
would like an orange.” 

And the King sent at once to the garden 
for a basketful of oranges. At last, the 
feast was ended, Pippo took his leave; and 
Puss was left alone with the King. Then she 
began to tell tales of her wonderful master ; of 
his wit, and of his good sense, and of how rich 
he was, and she ended her tale by saying, “He 
is just the son-in-law for a king!” 

The King was much interested and said, 
“And what is his fortune?” 

Puss answered that it was so great that no 
one knew; that her master himself did not 
know; but that if the King wished to know 


100 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


and would send trusty people out to learn, she 
would go with them to prove that there was no 
one so rich as her master. 

The King called messengers whom he told to 
follow the cat and learn of Pippo’s wealth. 
And so they set off; Puss leading the party. 
As soon as they had passed the border of the 
kingdom, Puss ran on ahead, she said, “to 
order cake and wine for the party.” When- 
ever she met a shepherd with a flock of sheep, 
or herdsmen with their horses and cows and 
pigs, she would call out, “Take care! There 
are robbers coming up the road. They will 
steal everything that they can And. If, how- 
ever, you wish to save your cattle, you must 
say, ‘All this belongs to the Lord Pippo,’ and 
they will leave you without harm.” 

All the farmers along the road she warned, 
saying, “There are robbers coming up the road, 
but if you say to them, ‘All this grain belongs 
to the Lord Pippo,’ they will leave you with- 
out harm.” 

And to the workers in the vineyards she said, 
“There are robbers coming up the road, but if 
you say to them, ‘These grapes belong to the 


PIPPO AND THE CLEVER CAT 101 

Lord Pippo,’ they will leave you without 
harm.” 

Later, when the King’s messengers came, 
the herdsmen and farmers and workers in the 
vineyards thought that they must be the rob- 
bers of whom they had been warned, and they 
cried out to them that all the cattle and grain 
and vineyards belonged to Lord Pippo. The 
messengers returned to the palace and told the 
King of the wonderful wealth of Pippo, and 
then the King sent for Puss and told her that 
if she could get her master’s promise to marry 
his daughter he would give her a drink of milk 
and the freedom of his stables to hunt mice. 

And so Pippo married the King’s daughter, 
and the King gave her, as a dower, money and 
a large estate. And Pippo and his bride went 
to Lombardy to live, and Puss went with 
them. 

Pippo was now very rich, and he thanked 
Puss many times over, saying that he owed 
to her all his happiness and good fortune. 
‘T hope. Puss,” he said, “that you may live a 
hundred years, and as long as you hve you shall 
have everything that you want. And when 


102 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


you die I will lay you in a golden casket and 
keep you always near me, and never forget 
your kindness to me.” 

Puss listened to all these fine words and 
was much pleased, but she thought that she 
would test her master, and so, after three days, 
she lay down in the garden and pretended to 
be dead. 

Pippo’s wife saw her and cried, “Oh, hus- 
band, what a misfortune has befallen us I Our 
clever cat is dead!” 

“Well,” said Pippo, “it might have been 
worse. Better she than we.” 

“What shall we do with her?” said the 
Princess. 

“Take her by the leg,” said Pippo, “and 
throw her over the wall.” 

When Puss heard these ungrateful words, 
up she sprang, very much alive, and said, “So 
this is my reward for all my kindness to you! 
For rescuing you from beggary and helping 
you to wealth and happiness! A fine golden 
casket you have for me! But, alas, unhappy 
is he who does a kindness in hope of reward. 
One who does most must expect least in this 


PIPPO AND THE CLEVER CAT 


103 


world.” With these words, out through the 
gate she went. In vain they called to her, beg- 
ging her to come back; no amount of coaxing 
or teasing would induce her to return, nor 
ever after that would any cat live in the home 
of Pippo. 

(Adapted from a story in “The Italian Fairy Book” by 
Anne Macdonnel, published by Frederick A Stokes Com- 
pany.) 


THE STORY OF MOUFFLOU 

Lolo and Moufflon lived far away in Italy. 
Lolo was not strong as you are; he was a 
poor lame little boy who could not run and 
play about, but always went hopping along 
on a little crutch. He was not even well 
enough to go to school and so he stayed at 
home and helped his mother. He was very 
clever with his fingers and he plaited straw 
matting and wove baskets, and was busy and 
happy all day long. He had five sturdy, 
rosy-cheeked brothers and sisters — Tasso, and 
Sandro, and Peppo, and Cecco, and Bice — but 
they ran so fast and played so hard that he 
could not keep up with them and so Moufflon 
was his best friend and he spent almost all of 
his time with him. 

And who do you suppose that Moufflon was 
— Moufflon was a snow-white poodle. When 

he was a little, woolly puppy, a year old, he 
104 


TEE STORY OF MOUFFLOU 105 

had been given by a soldier to the children and 
their mother had said that he was just like a 
moufflon, as they call sheep in that country, 
and so the children had named him “Mouf- 
flon.” The children all loved Moufflon, but 
most of all Lolo loved him. 

Lolo’s father had died four years before 
and his mother had to work very hard to feed 
and clothe her little children. Lolo’s oldest 
brother, Tasso, worked for a gardener, and 
every Saturday night he brought the money 
which he earned home to his mother to help 
take care of his little brothers and sisters. 
Tasso had grown to be almost a man, and in 
the country where he lived, as soon as you had 
grown to be a man, you had to go away for 
three years to be trained to be a soldier, and 
Lolo’s mother was often troubled, thinking of 
the time when Tasso would have to go away. 
If Tasso had had money enough he could have 
paid some one to go in his place, but he had 
no money, and neither had the poor mother. 

But Lolo and Moufflon knew nothing of all 
this, and they were very happy together. 
Every day when Lolo was well enough they 


106 STORIES ALWAYS NEW 

walked up and down the streets, and some- 
times, if the day was pleasant, they went out 
into the country and walked along the river, 
and if it was daffodil-time, Lolo brought home 
great bunches of the golden flowers. Near 
the old stone house in which they lived was a 
tall, gray church, loved by the children, but by 
Lolo most of all. He liked to go inside and 
sit there in the stillness, and it seemed to him 
that the painted saints smiled down upon him 
from their dim corners. He liked, too, to sit 
on the church steps and watch the people pass- 
ing in the street. 

One morning, when Lolo and Moufflon were 
sitting on the steps of the church, a man saw 
them and stopped to talk with Lolo. 

“You have a very fine poodle,” he said. 

“Yes,” said Lolo, “but, oh, you should see 
him on Sundays when he has just been washed 
— he is as white as snow.” 

“I should like to see him,” said the man. 
“How old is he?” 

“He is three years old,” said Lolo. 

“Can he do any tricks?” said the man. 

“Well, I should say he could!” said Lolo, 


TEE STORY OF MOUFFLOU 107 

“He can stand on his hind legs, he can dance, 
he can speak, he can make a wheelbarrow of 
himself, and when I put a piece of biscuit on 
his nose and count — one — two — three, he will 
snap and catch it in his mouth.” Lolo had 
taught Moufflou all these tricks. 

And then Moufflou did all of his tricks for 
the man. He loved to do anything that his 
little master wished him to do because Lolo 
never whipped him or punished him. The 
man was very much pleased with Moufflou’s 
tricks and he told Lolo that he had a little 
boy who was so ill that he could not leave 
his bed, and he asked Lolo to bring 
Moufflou, the next day, to the hotel where 
they were staying, to do his tricks for 
the little boy. Lolo told him that he would 
come if his mother would let him. The man 
told him where to come, and gave him some 
money. And Lolo went hopping home on his 
little crutch as fast as he could go, with Mouf- 
flou scampering after him. 

He was very happy thinking that with the 
money he would buy coffee for his mother’s 
breakfast, and that he would give Tasso some 


108 


8T0BIE8 ALWAY8 NEW 


of the money for the new suit of clothes which 
he so much wanted. When he told his mother 
she was quite willing that he should take Mouf- 
flou the next day to the hotel to do his tricks 
for the little sick boy. 

The next morning, Lolo washed Moufflon 
until his curls were as white as snow, and his 
sister. Bice, tied a blue ribbon about his neck. 
After dinner they started to go to the hotel. 
Moufflon was so proud of his curls and his rib- 
bon that his little feet scarcely touched the 
ground as he trotted along after his little mas- 
ter. I just wish that you could have seen him. 
When they reached the hotel they were shown 
to the little sick boy’s room, where, on a couch, 
he lay, looking pale and unhappy. Moufflon 
began to do his tricks and soon the little boy 
was laughing, and when Moufflon made a 
wheelbarrow of himself, he shouted and 
clapped his hands. And after Moufflon had 
done all of his tricks he gave to Lolo and the 
dog cakes and candies and they had a very 
happy time together. 

But all too soon it came time for Lolo and 
Moufflon to go home and then the little boy 


THE STORY OF MOUFFLOU 109 

began to cry. He said, “Oh, I want the dog. 
I want the dog. Give me the dog!” 

“But I cannot give him away,” said Lolo. 
“He is my own Moufflou.” 

Lolo couldn’t give away Moufflou, could he? 

The little boy was so unhappy that Lolo 
went away quite sad. He met the father on 
the stairs, and he thanked him for coming, and 
patted Moufflou on the head, and gave Lolo 
some money — much more than before. Lolo 
went hurrying home on his little crutch, think- 
ing how glad his mother would be to have the 
money, and of how many things it would huy 
that they needed. But when he came home 
and opened the door — there was Tasso, look- 
ing very unhappy, and his mother was crying, 
and the little brothers and sisters were crying, 
too. 

“What is the matter?” cried Lolo. At first, 
no one answered, and then one of his brothers 
told him that Tasso had been called to be a 
soldier, and the mother was very sad at his 
going, and troubled to know how, without his 
help, she could take care of her children all 
through the long winter. Lolo showed her 


110 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


his money but she was so unhappy that she 
scarcely noticed it, and after a while Lolo and 
Moufflon went to bed. Moufflon lay on the 
■ bed close beside his master and every little 
while he licked his hand to show that he was 
sorry for him. 

The next morning Tasso went to the gar- 
den where he worked and Lolo and Moufflon 
went with him. It was a beautiful way to the 
garden, beside the river, among the trees, and 
as Lolo and Tasso walked they talked of what 
they would do when Tasso was no longer at 
home, and Tasso said that if he only had money 
enough he would pay some one else to go in 
his place so that he might stay at home and 
take care of his mother and little brothers and 
sisters. Tasso loved his country and had he 
been needed to fight for her he would have 
gone at once, but Italy was not at war at that 
time. But Tasso must go, for they had no 
money and there was no one to lend it to them. 
And so they walked sadly along beside the 
river. When it was noon Lolo and Moufflon 
went home to dinner, and all that they had that 
day was some bean soup (they were so very 


THE STORY OF MOUFFLOU 111 

poor). After they had eaten, Lolo’s mother 
said to him, “Your aunt has asked you to come 
to her home and take care of her children this* 
afternoon, while she goes out for a while.” 
Lolo put on his hat and called to Moufflon, 
“Come, Moufflon.” 

“No,” said his mother, “you cannot take 
Moufflon with you this afternoon.” 

“Not take Moufflon!” said Lolo, ‘‘why, he 
always goes with me everywhere.” 

“No, you must leave him at home this after- 
noon,” said his mother. 

So Lolo went slowly to his aunt’s house, 
feeling quite lonely without Moufflon. His 
little sister. Bice, went with him. Lolo’s aunt 
was a lace-maker and she wished to deliver 
some lace which she had made, and Lolo and 
Bice took care of her two bahies while she was 
gone. 

The afternoon passed, and when it was dusk 
they hurried home, and all the way Lolo was 
thinking how happy Moufflon would be to see 
him. When they reached home he stopped at 
the foot of the stairs and called, “Moufflon! 
Moufflon!” but there was no patter of little 


112 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


white feet. At the top of the stairs Lolo 
opened the door and looked in, but there was 
no Moufflon in sight. 

Then he cried, “Where is my Moufflon?’’ 

His mother had been crying. She said, 
“He has been sold. The man whose little sick 
boy liked Moufflon so much has been here and 
he offered a great deal of money for him; so 
much, just think, that now Tasso will not have 
to go away to be a soldier.” 

While she was speaking Lolo grew white 
and cold, and began to waver from side to side 
on his little crutch, and then, suddenly he 
cried out, “Moufflon! Oh, my Moufflon!” and 
fell to the floor, his crutch clattering down be- 
side him. 

His mother took him in her arms and laid 
him on his bed, and all that night he tossed 
about, calling, “Moufflon! Moufflon!” 

When morning came, Lolo had a fever. 
His mother was frightened and sent for the 
doctor. He asked for what the little boy was 
calhng and Lolo’s mother told him that it was 
for his dog which had been sold. The doctor 
shook his head and looked very serious. He 


TEE STORY OF MOUFFLOU 113 

gave Lolo some medicine and went away. 
For days after that Lolo lay on his bed, tossing 
and moaning and calling for Moufflon. He 
did not even know his mother and brothers and 
sisters. Tasso went to the hotel to ask the 
man who had bought Moufflon to take back the 
money and give him Moufflon, but the man 
had gone away on the train and taken the dog 
with him to another city. And Lolo grew 
weaker and weaker, until, at last, there came 
a day when the doctor said that he could not 
live. 

One warm afternoon, Lolo’s mother sat be- 
side him, holding his little, hot hand. The 
other children were there, too, and Tasso had 
stayed at home from his work to help take 
care of the little sick brother. The windows 
were open and the door stood wide open. It 
was all so very still that you could even hear 
Lolo’s faint breathing — when — suddenly — 
there was heard a pattering of little feet on 
the stairs, and a scampering in the hall — and 
— a white poodle dashed in at the door and 
sprang upon the bed. — It was Moufflon! 
But you would never have known him. He 


114 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


was so thin and his curls were dirty and 
matted, and he looked so tired that you would 
have known at once that he had traveled a 
long way. Lolo opened his eyes and when he 
saw that it was Moufflon he smiled a little, wan 
smile, laid his thin hand on the dog’s head, then 
closed his eyes and went happily to sleep. 
After that Moufflon would not leave him; he 
would not even eat unless they brought food 
to him there. He lay close at Lolo’s side, his 
brown eyes wide open, looking into his little 
master’s face. 

When the doctor came that day he said that 
Lolo was so much better that he would live, 
and each day after that Lolo grew stronger. 

At the end of a week, a man came asking if 
Moufflon was there. He said that the man 
who had bought him had taken him far away to 
another city, but that he had run away and 
that they had not been able to find him. 
Tasso asked the messenger to let Moufflon stay 
with them until he had been to see the man who 
had bought the dog. Then Tasso took the 
money which had been paid for Moufflon and 
went to the hotel to see the man. He told the 


TEE STORY OF MOUFFLOU 115 

man how Lolo had nearly died because his dear 
Moufflou had been taken from him, and how 
Moufflon had come back to them, so tired and 
worn, but so happy to be once more with his 
little master. And he told how Lolo was 
growing well again since Moufflou had come 
home. And then, he said, “Lolo and Moufflou 
must never again be separated, and, kind sir, 
will you not take back the money which you 
paid for Moufflou and let us keep the dog? I 
will go away and be a soldier, if I must, but 
my little brother must have his dog.” 

And then the man said that Tasso was such 
a good, kind brother that they might keep the 
money and the dog, too. And Tasso said that 
he would find another poodle like Moufflou for 
the man and that Lolo would teach the poodle 
all of Moufflou’s tricks. Tasso was so happy 
that he thanked the man again and again and 
then he hurried home to tell the good news. 

They found another poodle almost as nice 
as Moufflou (of course there never could be 
another just as nice) and Lolo, as soon as he 
was well enough, began to teach him tricks. 

And Lolo and Moufflou spent many happy 


116 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


days together. Lolo often would look at 
Moufflon and wonder how he found his way 
home again. And he would lay his hand on 
the dog’s head, and, looking into his eyes, 
would say, “Moufflon, how ever did you find 
your way back to me, over all the miles of 
road?” — Now, you know, “grown-ups” say 
that love will find the way, and I think that 
Moufflon’s love for his little master helped him 
to find the way back to him, over all those 
miles of road. Don’t you? 

(Adapted from the story by Ouida.) 


RANELLA 


(The Italian “Cinderella”) 

Ranella was a tiny person, no taller than 
a tulip blossom. 

She and her mother were very poor and 
they lived in a tumbled-down old stone house, 
several miles from the nearest town. So 
poor were they that, many a day for want of 
food they were hungry, and many a night for 
lack of a candle they went to bed in dark- 
ness. But still they were happy, for in Italy 
there was as much sunshine and as many birds 
and flowers and trees for the poor as for the 
rich. All day long Ranella ran in and out 
of the house and played about in the yard. 

Ranella’s mother had several hens, and 
among them was one large, white hen ; as white 
as snow, with a wonderful glistening red comb, 
and golden yellow legs — a very handsome 
creature. She was a great pet with Ranella, 
117 


118 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


and whenever she saw Ranella coming she ran 
to meet her, saying, “Cluck-cluck! Cluck- 
cluck!” 

One day a neighbor came to visit with Ran- 
ella’s mother and she told the news of the com- 
ing of the Prince to the next town and of the 
splendid ball which was to be given there in 
his honor. And she said, “And all the most 
beautiful girls of this part of the country will 
go to the ball and from them the Prince will 
choose one to be his Princess.” And she told 
of how tall and fine and good the Prince was. 
And Ranella, on her little bench by the hearth, 
sat with eyes wide open and listened. 

No sooner had the bearer of the news gone 
on her way than Ranella cried, “Oh, Mother, 
I wish that I might go to the ball and see the 
Prince, for never have I seen a prince!” Of 
course tiny Ranella had no thought of being 
chosen by the Prince to become his Princess. 

“Alas, my child,” said her mother, “the ball 
is not for poor girls such as my little Ranella, 
and besides, there is no way for you to go.” 

For a long time Ranella sat on her bench 
by the hearth, thinking — and thinking. At 


RANELLA 


119 


last she shook her head. ‘‘There is no way,” 
she said to herself. 

Just that minute, her mother came in from 
out of doors, bringing a large, yellow pump- 
kin. 

“See, Ranella,” said she, “is it not a fine 
large pumpkin?” 

She carried it to the table and with a sharp 
knife she cut off the top, and as she scooped out 
the seeds she said, “Why, Ranella, it is large 
enough for you to sit in!” 

J ust then, the little white hen hopped up on 
the door-step. 

“Cluck-cluck!” said the Little White Hen. 

And then — suddenly, Ranella’s eyes grew 
large and bright with excitement. She sprang 
to her feet and cried, “O Mother! The very 
thing — the pumpkin shall be my coach — and 
the little white hen shall draw it to town ! And 
I shall see the Prince!” 

“Cluck-cluck!” said the Little White Hen. 

“But, Ranella,” said her mother, “you have 
no fine clothes to wear.” 

“Who knows but that I may find those on 
the way,” said Ranella, 


120 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


At last, Ranella’s mother gave her consent. 
She carried the pumpkin out of doors, placed 
it on the ground, and Ranella, with a bit of 
ribbon, harnessed to it the little white hen. 
Then Ranella kissed her mother, and stepped 
into her pumpkin-coach — “Cluck-cluck!” said 
the Little White Hen — and they set off down 
the road — at no great speed, to be sure — but 
looking quite fine. 

Now, long ago in Italy, there were a great 
many Fairies — so many, that a person — par- 
ticularly, a little girl — was always un- 
expectedly meeting them on every hand. Of 
course, it was not always known that they were 
Fairies — because, many times, they pretended 
to be old women — or trees — or flowers — or 
many other things. And so, it was well to be 
always on your good behavior, for no knowing 
when you might meet one — and most of any- 
thing in the world, a Fairy dislikes a rude 
person. 

Just about the time that Ranella had started 
away in her pumpkin-coach, three Fairies, 
dressed like old women, had stopped under a 
tree to lunch. A mischievous young Fairy, 


BANELLA 


121 


who was passing, saw them, and she touched 
with her finger the tiny piece of bread which 
one of the F airies was eating. ^'Cum-crumhly~ 
caror said the mischievous Fairy, under her 
breath, so softly that the three Fairies did not 
hear her, and just as the Fairy popped the 
bread into her mouth it turned into a hard 
crumb. And then the Fairy began to choke — 
her face grew very red, and she gasped for 
breath. The two other Fairies tried to help 
her; they shook her, and they patted her on 
the back — but she only choked and gasped the 
more. 

And then, what should happen but that 
Ranella came gaily riding down the road in 
her pumpkin-coach, drawn by the little white 
hen, and singing a little song. 

Suddenly, the little white hen stopped — so 
suddenly, that Ranella nearly fell from her 
coach. 

“Cluck-cluck!” said the Little White Hen, 
as much as to say, “What have we here?” 

At the sight of Ranella in her pumpkin- 
coach drawn by the little white hen, the Fairies 
all began to laugh funny tinkling fairy laugh- 


122 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


ter. And the Fairy who was choking laughed 
the hardest of all. So hard she laughed, that 
the crumb flew from her throat — and there she 
stood, quite well, but still rather red in the 
face. 

Ranella looked in amazement at the three 
old women laughing at her; of course not 
knowing that they were Fairies. And tears 
came into her eyes because she did not like 
to be laughed at. 

“My dear child,” said the Fairy who had 
choked, “you have saved my life.” And then 
she explained about the crumb, and Ranella 
was so glad to have helped her that she quite 
forgot that they had laughed at her. 

“And what do you wish for most of all?” 
said the three old women Fairies. 

“To go to the ball and see the Prince,” said 
Ranella. 

“Indeed, you shall go, and that in style, 
too,” said the Fairies. 

“Thank you, good friends,” said Ranella. 

“Cluck-cluck!” said the Little White Hen. 

And down the road they started. 

They had not gone far — when — suddenly — 


hanella 


123 


Ranella’s eyes shut tight — and when she 
opened them — there she sat — a tall and beau- 
tiful young lady, dressed in a wonderful dress 
of satin and silver and with a necklace of 
pearls — in a fine coach drawn by black horses, 
and with a coachman and footmen. And on 
the seat beside her sat the little white hen, as 
white as snow, with a golden collar about her 
neck. 

“Cluck-cluck!” said the Little White Hen. 

And on down the road they went. 

When they came to the town, they drove in 
state to the palace. Ranella alighted from her 
coach, and with the little white hen follow- 
ing her, she entered the palace. When the 
Prince saw her he came to meet her, and that 
evening he danced with her, and he scarcely 
left her side. He knew that of all the beauti- 
ful girls who were there, she was the most 
lovely — and that he chose her to be his 
Princess. 

“We shall meet again,” said the Prince, as 
he walked beside her to her coach. “Tell me 
where you live.” 

Then said Ranella: 


124 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


“Kind sir, if the truth I must tell, 

’Tis for you to learn where I dwell.” 

“Cluck-cluck!’’ said the Little White Hen. 

And Ranella, in her coach, with the little 
white hen on the seat beside her, started down 
the road. 

It was all too wonderful to believe — but 
Ranella was very happy, for she was sure that, 
in some way, the Prince would find her again. 
When they reached the spot where she had met 
the Fairies — suddenly, her eyes shut tight for 
an instant — and when she opened them — there 
she was — once more — a tiny person, no taller 
than a tulip blossom, sitting in her pumpkin- 
coach, drawn by the little white hen. 

“Cluck-cluck!” said the Little White Hen. 
And merrily down the road toward home they 
went. 

Ranella’s mother was very much surprised 
when she heard the story of Ranella’s adven- 
tures. 

“The three old women must have been 
Fairies,” said she — “and surely all will now be 
well.” 

The Prince thought that Ranella must be 


RANELLA 


125 


some well-known princess, and the next day he 
started out in his coach in search of her. For 
three days he rode through the country seek- 
ing her. The third day, he came to the 
tumbled-down old stone house where lived 
Ranella and her mother. There beside the 
road stood the little white hen. 

‘‘Cluck-cluck!” said the Little White Hen. 

“Why,” said the Prince, “it is the little white 
hen that was with the Princess 1” 

He left the coach and went toward the house. 
— Just as his foot touched the doorstep — tiny 
Ranella again became tall and beautiful. 

“I have chosen you to be my Princess,” said 
the Prince. 

Then said Ranella: 

‘‘My Prince, if the truth I must tell, 

To be your Princess would please me well.” 

“Cluck-cluck!” said the Little White Hen. 

And soon, Ranella and her mother and the 
little white hen, with the Prince, were traveling 
down the road toward the palace. 

And so, Ranella went to the ball and saw the 
Prince — and became a Princess. 

(Adapted from an old Italian Fairy Tale.) 


GIGI AND THE MAGIC RING 


This is the story of a young man, named 
Gigi, who lived in Italy, and of his mother, 
and his sister, named Maria, and of an old 
woman and a magic ring, and a cat and a dog, 
and of a beautiful maiden, named Maliarda, 
and of a little mouse who helped to bring back 
good fortune to Gigi. 

One upon a time, or, as they say in Italy, 
^'C'era una volta/^ there lived in Italy a young 
man named Gigi, with his mother and sister, 
whose name was Maria. They were very 
poor, and one day Gigi decided to go out into 
the world to seek his fortune. So he said fare- 
well to his mother and sister and off he went. 
AVhen he had left the town but a short dis- 
tance behind he overtook an old woman carry- 
ing a heavy oil jar. Gigi had a kind heart. 

“Give it to me,” said he. He swung it to his 
126 


GIGl AND THE MAGIC RING 


m 


shoulder and carried it up the hill and set it in 
her kitchen. 

“Thank you, my fine young man,” said the 
old woman. “I have little to offer to you but 
will you not sit and rest a while?” 

So Gigi sat and rested and while he sat in 
the chimney corner he played with the dog 
and the cat that lay before the fire. He told 
the old woman of how he had started out to 
seek his fortune, and, as he was leaving, lest 
he be lonely on his journey, she gave to him 
the dog and the cat for company. And she 
went to the cupboard and brought out a ring 
and with these words she gave it to him, “Take 
this, and when you want anything very much, 
wear it on your finger and turn it about, and 
your want shall be filled.” 

Gigi thanked her, put the ring in his pocket, 
and set off, the cat and the dog running on be- 
fore. 

When they had gone several miles it be- 
gan to grow dark and Gigi looked for a place 
to sleep. There were no houses near, but 
there was a thick wood. Gigi and the cat and 
the dog lay down and tried to sleep but Gigi 


128 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


was so hungry that he could not sleep. “I 
wish that a table were set before me with a fine 
supper on it/’ thought Gigi. His fingers 
touched the ring in his pocket. He slipped it 
on his finger and began turning it round. 
Suddenly, in the dim light, he saw before him 
a table spread with a fine cloth and laid with 
silver, and there were a hot smoking roast duck 
and fruit and wine. The dog and the cat sat 
up and sniffed, their noses in the air. And 
then Gigi drew up to the table, and with him 
the dog and the cat. And such a feast as they 
all had! 

“The old woman must have been a fairy,” 
he said to himself. And he began to think of 
all the things for which he might wish. But 
he decided not to wish for anything more until 
he had thought the matter over well. And he 
lay down and slept. 

He awoke early the next morning and set 
off down the road with the dog and the cat at 
his heels. Up and down hill and through the 
woods he went with his two good friends for 
company and as he went he sang a merry tune. 

At last he came to a fine palace. Out of an 


GIGI AND THE MAGIC BING 


129 


upper window looked a beautiful maiden. 
Gigi gazed and gazed at her. “Oh, I could 
look at her all day long,” he said, “but she 
would never look at me, poor as I am. I wish 
— ” And at the word “wish” he thought of 
the ring in his pocket and on his finger he 
slipped it and said, “I want a fine palace on 
the opposite side of the road.” And suddenly 
he found himself standing in the window of a 
wonderful palace, and looking across, he saw 
the beautiful maiden smiling at him. And 
then he wished for fine clothes, and servants, 
meat and drink, and all good things. 

The next morning the girl’s father and 
mother came to call and soon he returned their 
call. He was presented to the girl whose 
name was Maliarda, and before the day was 
over Gigi had asked her hand in marriage. 
Her parents thought that Gigi must be a great 
Prince and gladly gave consent to the mar- 
riage. 

All went well until the eve of the wedding 
day, when Maliarda and her father and mother 
paid a visit to Gigi and while they talked to- 
gether Maliarda asked Gigi how it was that 


130 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


his fine palace had sprung up in so short a 
time. And Gigi, always kind and simple, told 
of his journey into the world to seek his for- 
tune, of the old woman and her gift of the 
ring, and all that had happened. 

‘And do you always wear the ring on your 
finger?” asked Maliarda. 

“Always,” answered Gigi, “whether I am 
waking or sleeping.” 

Now, Gigi had been hunting that day and 
was very tired and as soon as Maliarda and her 
father and mother had taken their departure 
he lay down on a couch and fell fast asleep. 
Maliarda stayed behind a moment, and when, 
peeping through a crack in the door, she saw 
that Gigi was asleep, she stole in and drew the 
ring from his finger. She hurried home, and 
once there, she put the ring on her own finger, 
turned it, and said, “I wish Gigi’s palace to 
be removed and set upon the highest peak of 
yonder mountain range!” 

When Gigi awoke the next morning he was 
shivering and shaking with the cold. And 
great was his surprise to find his ring miss- 
ing, and himself and his palace on the moun- 


GlGl AND TEE MAGIC RING 131 

tain top. Beneath him could be seen only the 
ice and snow, but worst of all was the thought 
that his beautiful Maliarda had brought this 
about, for only one person knew of the ring, 
and that was Maliarda. 

It was impossible to go down the mountain ; 
it was very steep and there was no path. 

The dog and the cat were sorely troubled 
about their master’s misfortune. They said, 
“We can walk where a man cannot. Give us 
a day and we will try to get back your ring.” 

Gigi fed them well and then he opened the 
door for them. And the dog and the cat set 
off. They slipped — and slid — and crawled— 
and fell — and went on again and never stopped 
till they came to the palace of Maliarda. They 
managed to slip in when the door was opened, 
and while the dog kept guard below, the cat 
crept up-stairs to the door of Maliarda’s room. 
But the door was shut. The cat sat down and 
thought and thought. As she sat thinking, a 
little mouse came running across the floor. 
“Squeak! Squeak!” said the little mouse; she 
was so frightened when she saw the cat. The 
cat put out her paw and caught her. The 


132 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


mouse begged so piteously for her life, telling 
of her little family which would be left with 
no mother, that the cat was sorry for her and 
said, “Very well, I will spare your life, but in 
return you must gnaw a hole in that door, for 
I must go inside.” The little mouse began to 
gnaw. She gnawed and she gnawed and she 
gnawed until she could gnaw no more, but still 
the hole was so small that she couldn’t even get 
in herself, let alone the cat. 

The mouse sat and thought for a minute and 
then she said, “Wait — and you shall see what 
you shall see.” 

Away she ran and when she came hack she 
brought her youngest, a tiny mouse. 

A word from his mother, and in through the 
hole went the tiny mouse. In a minute, back 
came Tiny Mouse. “There is no ring on the 
lady’s finger,” he said. 

“Then the lady has it in her mouth,” said the 
mouse. “Go in again; creep up on her bed; 
tickle her nose with your tail; she will open 
her mouth and the ring will drop out.” 

In another minute Tiny Mouse came bring- 


GlGl AND TEE MAGIC RING 133 

ing the ring. The mice hurried away to their 
holes, and as soon as the door was opened, the 
cat and the dog ran out, and away they went 
to the top of the mountain. It was morning 
when they reached the palace and their mas- 
ter was waiting in the door for them. 

Gigi put the ring on his finger, turned it, 
and said, ‘T wish my palace again by the road- 
side, and the palace of the wicked Maliarda 
here on the top of the mountain amidst the 
snow and ice !” 

All in a minute it was done. 

When a year had passed Gigi went home to 
see his mother and sister. His friends, the dog 
and the cat journeyed with him. 

He stopped on the way to see the old woman 
who had given him the ring, but she was not 
there and no one knew where she had gone. 

As for his mother and his sister, they were 
more glad to see him than words can tell, and 
a fine welcome they gave him. 

And Gigi and his mother and his sister, 
Maria, and the dog and the cat lived together 
in peace and content for many a long year — 


134 


8T0BIES ALWAYS NEW 


and they may still be living, for all that I 
know. 

(Adapted from the story of the same title in ‘‘The Italian 
Fairy Book,” by Anne Macdonell, published by Frederick A. 
Stokes Company.) 


PICCOLA 


Long ago, there lived in Italy a little girl 
named Piccola. Her father was dead and she 
and her mother lived in an old stone house. 

She had no brothers and sisters with whom 
she could play; they were very poor and her 
mother went away from home nearly every 
day to scrub and clean to earn money to buy 
food and clothing for herself and her little girl, 
and so Piccola was left alone much of the time. 
She had almost no toys. She had an old rag 
doll which had belonged to her mother when 
she was a little girl, which she carried about 
with her everywhere that she went. Some- 
times she picked up stones in the backyard and 
built little walls and houses. There were no 
trees or flowers in Piccola’s yard. If she had 
not been such a happy, contented, little girl 
she would often have been very lonely. 

At the back of Piccola’s yard there was a 

stone wall, and one day she discovered in this 
135 


136 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


wall a small hole. She stood on tiptoe and 
peeped through. She expected to see another 
yard like her own, but to her surprise, she saw 
what to her looked like fairyland — there were 
flqwers and green grass, and a fountain with 
water, and, flying about among the trees, were 
birds. She was filled with joy. Every day 
after that Piccola looked through the hole into 
the wonderful garden. She imagined that 
there were fairies living there and she told her 
doll stories of how the fairies came out at night 
and danced among the flowers. 

One day she heard the sound of soft laughter 
which seemed to come from the garden. She 
ran to the wall and peeped through the hole. 
Playing in the garden she saw a number of 
children. They were little American children, 
who, with their mother, who was ill, had come 
to Italy to spend the winter. Day after day 
Piccola watched the children playing in the 
garden. After that she was never lonely, for 
all day long the children ran and played games 
in the garden. For more than a week the 
children did not see Piccola, and then, one day, 
the little boy ran along close beside the wall 


PICCOLA 


137 


and suddenly he saw Piccola’s bright black 
eyes looking at him. At first he was fright- 
ened and ran away. But soon he came back 
with his older sister who spoke to Piccola. 
When they learned that it was only a lonely 
little girl who was watching them at play they 
were not in the least frightened. Every day 
they talked to her through the hole, and they 
thought of queer games which they could play 
together, and sometimes they brought her fruit 
and nuts and passed them through the hole. 

One day they tried to push their kitten 
through the hole to Piccola, but the kitten was 
frightened and mewed and scratched. And 
then it was that the little boy thought of mak- 
ing the hole in the wall larger so that Piccola 
herself could crawl through and play with 
them. His father was willing and soon the 
stones were broken away and the opening 
made. 

And then, one day, Piccola stepped into the 
garden! She was so excited and happy. She 
was all dressed in her very best, — a white waist, 
and a bright-colored woolen skirt; round her 
neck was a string of beads, and on her feet 


138 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


were little wooden shoes. Piccola did not 
wear stockings; she and her mother were too 
poor for that. Most of the time she played 
about barefooted. But to-day was a wonder- 
ful day and she wore her wooden shoes. 

Every day, after breakfast, Piccola crept 
through the hole. Sometimes the children 
were not yet in the garden and then she walked 
about by herself and looked at the flowers and 
listened to the splashing of the water in the 
fountain. And when the children came they 
ran and danced and played together all 
through the long, happy day. 

And so the days passed and December came 
and the American children began to talk about 
Christmas. One day, as she stepped into the 
garden, the little boy said, “Oh, Piccola, what 
do you want for a Christmas present?” 

“A Christmas present !” said Piccola, “Why, 
what is that?” 

“Didn’t you ever have a Christmas present, 
Piccola?” cried the children. 

Of course Piccola knew that Christmas was 
the day on which Christ had been born so many 
long years ago. She had been to the church 


PICCOLA 


139 


and seen there a picture of the baby Christ, 
lying in the manger in Bethlehem, with his 
mother bending over him, and all around him 
were sheep and cattle. Her little heart was 
filled with love as she thought of him. But 
she did not know what a Christmas present 
was. 

And then the children told Piccola that be- 
cause the loving Father in Heaven had given 
to the children of earth the gift of his Son, the 
Christ Child, who came to earth to be the 
children’s friend, that on the day of his birth, 
people gave to each other gifts in remembrance 
of him. 

And then they told her of Santa Claus, who 
was the bearer of gifts, — of dear old Santa 
Claus who came on Christmas Eve to the chil- 
dren of every country, bringing presents to 
them. They told of his twinkling eyes and his 
long white heard and of his fur coat; of how 
he lived “away up north,” and how he came 
in his sleigh drawn by reindeer, of how he 
stopped on the roofs of houses where children 
lived, and, taking gifts from his loaded sleigh, 
he tiptoed to the chimney and down he came 


140 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


and left presents for good children (and that 
for bad children he sometimes left a whip). 
And the children talked of what they wanted 
for Christmas. And by that time it was noon 
and time for dinner and for Piccola to go 
home. As she was leaving, the children cried, 
“And now, Piccola, you must be very good and 
be sure to hang up your stocking Christmas 
Eve/’ 

“Hang up my stocking!” said Piccola. 
“Why must I do that?” 

“Why, so that Santa Claus can put your 
presents in it,” said the children. “That is 
where he always puts them.” 

Piccola was delighted at this and went home 
with her mind filled with the picture of the 
stocking filled with Christmas presents which 
she was to find hanging beside the chimney 
Christmas morning. She told her mother 
about Santa Claus, but her mother said that 
she was afraid Santa Claus did not know that 
a little girl lived in the old stone house and 
that he might not come. But Piccola wrote 
a note to Santa Claus and sent it up the chim- 
ney and she was sure that he would come. 


PICCOLA 


141 


And every day, in the garden, the children 
talked of Christmas, and Santa Claus, and 
toys — dolls, and balls, and hoops, and ribbons, 
and tops, and marbles, and other things. 

At last, Christmas Eve came. Piccola and 
her mother had their supper early, and Piccola 
began to think of getting ready for Santa 
Claus. First, she swept the hearth quite clean 
and put her little chair in its place and then 
she stood by the chimney thinking how Santa 
Claus would come down the chimney. “He 
will come so quietly,” she thought, “and just 
for a minute he will stand on the hearth look- 
ing to see that no one is about and then — he 
will reach for my stocking and — ” Suddenly 
the smile faded from her face and the tears 
came into her eyes — why — she had — no stock- 
ing — neither had her mother. Santa Claus 
would think that she had forgotten and he 
would be angry. The tears ran down her 
face. Just then her mother called to her that 
it was time for bed. She stopped crying. 
She must do something! She looked down at 
her feet and she saw her wooden shoes and she 
said to herself, “The very thing! I will set 


142 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


one of them by the chimney. Santa Claus 
will understand. He will know that I have 
no stocking and that I have set my shoe here 
so that he may have a place to put my pres- 
ents.” She took off one of her little wooden 
shoes and set it close beside the chimney, and 
went happily to bed and to sleep. 

Early the next morning she wakened and 
she crept softly out of bed not to waken her 
mother. She ran over to the hearth. There 
was her shoe just as she had left it. She took 
it carefully in her hands and looked into it — 
and — away down in the toe — oh, you never, 
never could guess what was there, and so — 
I’ll have to whisper it to you, — “A tiny bird, 
asleep in her wooden shoe!” 

Piccola was so happy that for a minute she 
just stood still and looked at the bird, and then 
she danced over to the bed, crying, “Mother, 
Mother! look! look! See the present which 
Santa Claus has brought to me !” 

Her mother raised her head from the pillow 
and looked into the shoe. “Why, Piccola,” 
she said, “a little bird, a little chimney-swallow 


PICCOLA 


143 


nesting in your shoe. How kind of Santa 
Claus to bring you a bird!” And Piccola was 
so delighted that she kissed her mother, and she 
kissed the bird, and she even threw kisses up 
the chimney, hoping that one might reach 
Santa Claus. 

They took the bird out of the shoe. He did 
not seem frightened. He hopped about the 
room, and he took a drink of water from a cup, 
and even ate crumbs and seeds from Piccola’s 
hand. 

Piccola’s mother found a wicker cage which 
she had had for a long time and they put the 
bird into it. Piccola was so happy and so 
proud of her present that she could scarcely 
wait to show it to the children in the garden. 
After breakfast she hurried to the garden, 
carrying the precious cage. And I wish that 
you could have been there to see how delighted 
the children were with Piccola’s present. 
They had had many beautiful gifts but not one 
of them was alive like Piccola’s bird. They 
hung the cage on the branch of a tree and the 
little bird sat on his perch watching with his 


144 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


bright eyes the children as they played about. 

And there was no happier little girl in all 
Italy than Piccola. 

(Adapted from the poem, "Piccola,” by Celia Thaxter; 
used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. 



He DTD NOT SEEM FRIGHTENED 





STORIES OF FRANCE 


BEAUTE DORMANTE 
(The Sleeping Beauty) 

II y avait une fois (once upon a time) there 
lived a king and a queen who were very un- 
happy because they had no httle children of 
their own. They had much to make them 
happy; servants and gold and lands and a 
splendid palace, but to them the palace seemed 
a sad and dreary place, without the sound of 
happy children’s voices. At last there came 
to the king and queen a beautiful little baby 
girl and great was their joy. 

When the baby was three weeks old she was 
christened and to the ceremony were invited 
all the rich and grand and proud of the king- 
dom. And instead of just plain every-day 
godmothers, such as children have nowadays, 
the little princess had seven fairy godmothers. 
And in the place of gifts, such as godmothers 

give to children nowadays, the fairy god- 
147 


148 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


mothers each gave to the princess a wish. A 
fairy’s wish, you know, is the best gift that a 
child can have, for fairies’ wishes always come 
to pass. 

After the christening ceremony, the com- 
pany returned to the palace where a great 
feast had been made ready for the fairies and 
guests. The fairies were all seated at one 
table. At each fairy’s place the king had set 
a golden plate and laid a knife and fork and 
spoon of pure gold. Just as they were seated, 
into the room walked an ugly old woman. 
She, too, was a fairy. Now, any one who hrs 
ever seen a fairy has said that she was young 
and beautiful. But they can change their 
looks whenever they choose, and something had 
happened to displease this fairy and she was 
angry with the other fairies and had made up 
her mind to be everything that a fairy ought 
not to be. And so she was old, and cross, and 
ugly. She would not dance with the other 
fairies and she had shut herself up in a tower 
and had not been seen for a hundred years. 
And the king had forgotten all about her and 
had not asked her to be godmother to the little 


BEAUTE DOBMANTE 


149 


princess nor had he invited her to the feast. 
She came into the room shaking her head and 
scowling at every one. 

The king hastened to make a place and to 
set before her a golden plate but he had no 
knife and fork and spoon of gold for her. She 
fancied that she had been slighted and she sat 
at the table and muttered and grumbled in a 
low voice. The young fairy who sat next to 
her was troubled and feared that when the time 
came for the fairies to make their wishes the old 
fairy might bestow an unlucky wish upon the 
little princess. And so, when the company 
rose from the table, she hid herself behind a 
curtain, in order that she might speak last, and 
undo, as much as possible, any harm which 
might be done by the old fairy. 

The fairies stood in a magic ring about the 
cradle where lay the tiny princess, and each in 
turn made her wish. The first wished that the 
little princess might be good; the second that 
she might be beautiful; the third that she might 
be witty; the fourth that she might be grace- 
ful; the fifth that she might sing like a bird; 
and the sixth that she might dance like a fairy. 


150 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


And then suddenly into the ring stepped the 
old fairy and in a terrible voice she said, 
“When the princess is sixteen years old she 
shall prick her finger on a spindle and die/’ 
At this all the company began to weep. 

And then out stepped from behind the cur- 
tain the young fairy who had not yet made her 
wish, and she said in a soft voice, “Oh, King 
and Queen, I cannot undo all the evil wished; 
the princess shall indeed prick her finger on a 
spindle but she shall not die. She shall fall 
into a deep sleep, and sleep for a hundred years 
until she is awakened by a prince.” 

That this might not happen to the princess 
the king commanded that all the spindles in the 
kingdom should be destroyed, and that any 
one found spinning should be punished. And 
after a while no one remembered the wicked 
fairy’s wish. 

The years passed and the little princess grew 
to be good and beautiful and everything which 
the fairies had wished for her. One day, when 
she was sixteen years old, she was walking in 
the wood and she came to a very old house with 
a tower. The door was open and she went in. 


BEAUTE DORMANTE 


151 


She wandered through the rooms, and not find- 
ing any one, she climbed the dusty stairs. 
She came to a little door. In the lock was a 
rusty key, and as she turned it, the door flew 
open and there in the room sat an old woman 
spinning flax. 

“What are you doing. Goody?” said the 
princess, for she had never seen any one spin- 
ning. 

“I am spinning, my pretty child,” said the 
old woman. 

“Do let me try,” said the princess. 

So the princess took the spindle from the old 
woman’s hand and started spinning, but before 
the wheel had turned twice she pricked her 
finger — and she fell to the floor in a deep 
sleep. The old woman was frightened. She 
tried to rouse her and when she could not do 
so she ran out for help and people came run- 
ning from the palace. But no one could 
waken her. When the king and queen heard 
what had happened they were very much 
grieved. 

The princess was carried to the palace and 
laid on a bed in the most splendid room. And 


152 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


there she lay fast asleep. Then the king sent 
for the young fairy who had saved the life of 
the princess. She was far away but she came 
at once in her magic chariot. 

The good fairy was very wise and she 
thought of the time, when, after a hundred 
years, the princess would awaken, and that if 
she found herself all alone in the palace she 
would be frightened and lonely. And so she 
waved her magic wand and all in the palace, 
excepting the king and the queen, fell asleep. 
All the men and the maids, the ladies-in-wait- 
ing, the pages and footmen, fell into a deep 
sleep; each one just as he was — the cook fell 
asleep as he stood roasting the meat, and even 
the fire slept. The horses in the stable, the 
dogs in the courtyard, and even Mopsy, the 
princess’s little spaniel on the bed beside her, 
slept. The pigeons in the courtyard tucked 
their heads under their wings and closed their 
eyes. The winds in the trees were still, not a 
leaf moved. No place in the world was ever 
so still as the palace where the princess slept. 

The king and the queen could not stay in 
the palace with all these sleeping people and so 


BEAUTE DORM ANTE 


153 


they kissed their daughter and went sadly 
away. And then the good fairy caused a thick 
hedge of thorns to grow up around the palace 
so that no one could pass through to enter. 
Nothing could be seen of the palace but the 
very top of the towers, and that only from a 
long way off. 

And so they slept for years and years, and 
the young people in the kingdom grew old, and 
only the very oldest grandfathers remembered 
about the little sleeping princess. 

A hundred years passed. One day a prince 
from a neighboring kingdom came hunting 
with his men in the woods. He saw in the dis- 
tance the towers of the palace. He asked 
what palace it was. Every one whom he asked 
told a different story; some said that fairies 
lived there, and others that witches lived there. 
But at last the prince met a very old man who 
said, “Oh, Prince, my grandfather told me that 
a most beautiful princess lay asleep in the 
palace and that she would sleep for a hundred 
years until a prince should come to waken her. 
And now the hundred years have passed.” 

The prince longed to see the beautiful prin- 


154 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


cess and hastened toward the palace. When 
he came to the hedge of thorns, strange to re- 
late, it separated and allowed him to pass 
through. But it quickly closed after him so 
that no one could follow. He came to the 
courtyard and there he found the guards, 
drawn up in line, their spears in hand, all fast 
asleep. He spoke to them and shook them but 
he could not waken them. He went into the 
palace and there he saw sleeping pages and 
ladies-in-waiting. He passed from one room 
to another and at last he came to the room 
where lay the princess, so beautiful that it 
seemed to him that she must belong to another 
world. Long he looked at her and then he 
stooped and kissed her. She opened her eyes 
and smiled at him and said, “Oh, my Prince, 
have you come at last?'’ 

She was not in the least surprised to see 
him because the good fairy had made her 
dream of him while she slept and she knew 
just how he looked and how kind and good he 
was. And then every one else in the palace 
awoke and went on with his work. The prince 
took the princess by the hand and led her down 


BEAUTE DORM ANTE 


155 


the stairs and they went into the great “hall 
of looking-glasses” and had supper. 

After supper the prince said that his hunts- 
men and servants were outside the hedge wait- 
ing for him and that he must leave her but that 
he would come again on the morrow. 

The next day the prince came with his father 
and mother to the palace and the king and the 
queen thought that they had never before seen 
so lovely a princess and they were filled with 
joy that their son had had the good fortune to 
find her and waken her. 

And the princess went with the prince to his 
kingdom, and there they were married and — 
ils vivrent heiireusement pour tou jours — (they 
lived happily ever afterward) . 

(Retold from the old French Tale.) 


JEANNE D’ARC 


Long ago, in France, near the little village 
of Domremy, stood a great beech-tree with 
wide-spreading branches. Beneath its cool- 
ing shade in summer-time the children played 
and danced about. They loved the old tree 
because there was a wonderful story about it 
— that sometimes at night tiny fairy hands 
pushed aside the clumps of green moss on the 
ground and the fairies who lived down among 
the roots of the tree came out and danced in the 
moonlight. And that these fairies loved chil- 
dren and were sorry when they did wrong or 
were unhappy. Once a year, in the spring, 
the children held a feast under the old tree and 
ate little cakes and danced and sang and 
twined garlands of flowers about its trunk and 
hung wreaths from its branches because they 
knew that the fairies loved flowers. And the 
tree was called the “Fairy Tree.” 

Beneath the “Fairy Tree,” with the other 

156 


JEANNE D^ABG 


157 


children, played a little girl — a little girl, who, 
when she grew up, became the bravest woman 
whom the world has ever known — Jeanne 
d’Arc. 

When Jeanne d’Arc played under the 
“Fairy Tree” in Domremy she seemed just 
like any other happy child. She lived in a 
cottage with her father and mother and three 
brothers and little sister. She played every 
day with the other children of the neighborhood 
and she was a busy little girl, too. She helped 
her mother cook and sew and spin and weave 
and knit, and she helped her father tend the 
sheep. Her father kept sheep and she loved 
to care for them, to lead them to pasture and 
to watch them there that no harm came to them. 
There were white sheep and black sheep and 
little lambs in the fold and each one had a 
name and knew her voice and came when she 
called. 

Jeanne dearly loved her father and mother 
and brothers and sister and her playmates and 
all the kind friends, old and young, in Dom- 
remy. But as she grew older there were two 
things which she loved better than anything else. 


158 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


She loved to go into the quiet church next door 
to her home, and to look up at the pictured 
saints who seemed to smile down upon her 
from their places in the windows; and, best of 
all, she loved her own dear country, France. 

And so the years passed and she grew from 
a child to a young girl, and then one day a 
very strange thing happened to her. — She was 
out in her father’s garden among the flowers 
when she seemed to hear a voice speaking 
softly to her. The Voice said, “Be a good 
girl, Jeanne. Mind your father and mother 
and go often to church.” She was surprised 
and puzzled and yet she was strangely happy, 
for it seemed to her that it was a message 
straight from heaven and she felt that she must 
obey. 

After that she often heard voices speaking 
to her, and then, one day, the Voice told her 
that she must leave her home and go to lead the 
French army into battle to save her king and 
her country. 

For almost a hundred years France had been 
at war with England. A great many of her 
brave soldiers had been killed and the French 





She helped her father tend the sheep 



I 



JEANNE D*ABC 


159 


had lost heart. The King of France was an 
old man and was about to leave his throne to 
his son, the young Prince Charles. Jeanne 
d’Arc knew all this and she knew that France 
needed some one brave and true-hearted to 
help her and the young Prince. 

And the Voices told her that France must 
be saved from the English, and that she, 
J eanne d’Arc, was the only one who could do 
it. 

Jeanne was only a young girl and she 
thought that she could not do such a great thing. 
She thought, “Why, I am but a little girl. I 
know nothing of war. I cannot fight. How 
can I save France?” 

But because the Voices told her again and 
again, “Only you, Jeanne d’Arc, can save 
France,” she came to believe, and because she 
loved France so much, she obeyed the Voices. 

And so when she was seventeen years old 
she left her home to go to Prince Charles. 
The old King had died and Prince Charles had 
not yet been crowned King of France. The 
kings of France, for many years, had been 
crowned in the great Cathedral at Rheims, but 


160 


ST0BIE8 ALWAYS NEW. 


all the country about Rheims was held by 
English soldiers and Prince Charles could not 
go to Rheims to be crowned until the English 
soldiers had been driven away. And Jeanne 
wished to go to Prince Charles to ask him to 
give her an army to lead against the English. 

First, she went to her uncle in a city near by 
and he took her to one of the officers in another 
city. When she told her story to him and to 
others they thought it very strange that a 
young girl should think that she could lead an 
army into battle. But she had so much faith 
and courage that at last they trusted her and 
helped her to go to Prince Charles. 

When the Prince heard that she was com- 
ing he dressed himself in the plain robes of one 
of his ministers and the minister wore the royal 
robes and sat upon the throne. Prince Charles 
said, “She has never seen me and if she knows 
me I shall beheve that she was truly sent by 
Heaven to save France.” 

And so Jeanne entered the court of Charles 
where there were more than three hundred 
knights and many courtiers and ladies, all 
richly dressed. She saw the man sitting on 


JEANNE D^ABO 


161 


the throne, but, to the surprise of every one, 
she passed the throne, and walking between 
the glittering lines, she went at once to the 
Prince, and kneeling before him, her face 
lighted with joy, she said, “You are the 
Prince, and no other!’!’ And then she said, 
“Through God’s help, I will save France.” 

And Prince Charles could not but believe. 

To Jeanne was given a great army, mounted 
on horses, and clad in glistening armor, with 
sharp and shining swords, and banners held 
high. And leading this great army, on a 
wonderful white horse of her own, came Jeanne 
d’Arc. In her hands she carried a banner blue 
as the skies. On it was a white dove and the 
words : 

IN THE NAME OF THE KING OF HEAVEN. 

She knew that God would help her and the 
army of France. 

Into battle she dashed. “On! on!” she cried, 
“we cannot fail!” 

On they went to victory and the English 
were driven from Rheims. And soon after 
that. Prince Charles came to Rheims, and there 


162 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


in the great cathedral, with Jeanne standing 
beside him, he was crowned King of France. 

All this happend more than five hundred 
years ago, but Jeanne d’Arc has not been for- 
gotten. She never will be forgotten. All 
France treasures the memory of the girl who so 
long ago saved France, and the little children 
of France call her their own “blessed Saint 
Jeanne d’Arc,’’ and all the world remembers 
her as the bravest woman who ever lived. 

(Version by the Story-teller.) 


STORIES OF BELGIUM 


“This is the story that the old woman who 
was called Tante Sanna told to the little boy 
who would always be talking.” 







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SUGAR-CANDY HOUSE 


Jan and Jannette were brother and sister. 

They lived near a big wood, and every day 
they used to go to play there, fishing for 
sticklebacks in the streams, and making neck- 
laces of red berries. One day they wandered 
farther from their home than usual, and all of 
a sudden they came to a brook, crossed by a 
pretty little red bridge. On the other side of 
the bridge, half -hidden among the trees, they 
espied the roofs of a little pink cottage, which 
when they came closer, they found to be built 
entirely of sugar-candy ! Here was a delight- 
ful find for a little boy and girl who loved 
sweets! They lost no time in breaking off 
pieces of the roof and popping them into their 
mouths. 

Now in that house there lived an old wolf 
whose name was Garon. He was lame in one 
leg, and could not run very fast, but in all 
other respects he was as fierce and strong as he 

165 


166 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


had been in his youth. When he heard Jan 
and Jannette breaking off bits of his roof he 
growled out, “Who is touching my Sugar- 
Candy House?” Then he came limping out 
to see who it was, but by that time the children 
were safely hidden in the woods. 

“Who dares to touch my Sugar-Candy 
House?” roared the wolf again. Then Jan 
replied: 

“It’s the wind so mild, 

It’s the wind so mild. 

That lovable child!” 

This satisfied the old wolf, and back he went 
to his house, grumbling. 

The next day Jan and Jannette once more 
crossed over the little red bridge, and broke 
some more candy from the wolf’s house. Out 
came Garon again, bristling all over. 

“Who is touching my Sugar-Candy 
House?” he roared. 

And Jan and Jannette replied: 

“It’s the wind so mild. 

It’s the wind so mild. 

That lovable child!” 


8V0AR-CANDY HOUSE 


167 


“Very well,” said the wolf, and he went back 
again, but this time there was a gleam of sus- 
picion in his eye. 

The next day was stormy, and hardly had 
Jan and Jannette reached the Sugar-Candy 
House than the wolf came out, and surprised 
them in the very act of breaking a piece off 
his window-sill. And now there was no time 
to hide. 

“Oho!” said he. “It was the ‘wind so mild,’ 
was it? ‘That lovable child,’ eh? Precious 
lovable children, I must say. Gr-r-r, I’ll eat 
them up!” And he sprang at Jan and Jan- 
nette, who took to their heels and ran off as 
fast as their legs could carry them. Garon 
pursued them at a good speed in spite of his 
stiff paw, and although he never gained upon 
them, yet he kept them in sight, and refused 
to give up the chase. The children looked 
back once or twice, and saw that the wolf was 
still following them, but they were not very 
much afraid, because they were confident of 
their ability to outrun him. 

All of a sudden they found their way barred 
by a river. There w^s no bridge across it, and 


168 


8T0EIE8 ALWAY8 NEW 


the water was very deep. What were they to 
do? Nearer and nearer came the wolf! 

In the middle of the river some ducks were 
swimming, and Jan called out to them: “Little 
ducks! Little ducks! Carry us over the 
river on your backs, for if you do not the wolf 
will get us!” 

So the ducks came swimming up, and Jan 
and Jannette climbed each on the back of one, 
and were carried safely over to the other bank. 

Presently the wolf, in his turn, came to the 
river. He had seen how the children had 
managed to cross, and he roared out to the 
ducks in a terrible voice, “Come and carry me 
over, or I’ll eat you all up!” 

“Very well,” answered the ducks, and they 
swam to the bank, and Garon balanced him- 
self on four of them, one paw on the back of 
each. But they had no intention of carrying 
the wicked old wolf to the other side, for they 
did not love him or any of his tribe, and, more- 
over, they objected to his impolite way of ask- 
ing a favor. So, at a given signal from the 
leader, all the ducks dived in mid-stream, and 
left old Garon struggling in the water, Three 



Jan and Jannette ran off as fast as their legs could 

CARRY THEM. 





SVQAR-GANDY HOUSE 


169 


times he went down and three times he came 
up, hut the fourth time he sank never to rise 
any more. 

That was the end of old Garon, and a good 
job, too, say I. 

I don’t know what became of his Sugar- 
Candy House, but I dare say, if you could find 
the wood, and the sun had not melted the 
candy, or the rain washed it away, you might 
break a bit of it off for yourselves. 

And— 

“This is the story that the old woman who 
was called Tante Sanna told to the little boy 
who would always be talking.” 

(From Folk Tales of Flanders by Jean Bosschere. Used by 
permission of Dodd, Mead and Company.) 


THE CHORISTERS OF ST. 
GUDULE 


The miller of Sandhills had a donkey which 
had served him well in its time, but was now 
too old to work. The miller was a careful 
man, who did not believe in feeding useless 
mouths, so he decided that he would sell the 
donkey for the price of its skin. ‘T do not 
suppose I shall get very much for the wretched 
beast,” he said, regarding poor Greyskin as he 
stood with hanging head in his stall, “but I 
shall save the cost of his corn, anyhow, and 
that is always something.” 

Left alone, Greyskin reflected sadly upon 
the fate in store for him. “Such is the way of 
the world,” he thought. “When I was young 
and hearty nothing was too good for me; now 
I’m old and useless I am to be cast out. But 
am I so useless after all? True, I can no 
longer pull a cart to market, but I have a mag- 
nificent voice still. There must be a place 
170 


THE CH0EI8TERS OF ST. QUDULE 171 


somewhere for one who can sing as beautifully 
as I. I’ll go to the Cathedral of St. Gudule, 
in Brussels, and offer myself as a chorister.” 

Greyskin lost no time in acting upon his 
resolve, but he left his stable immediately and 
set out on the road to Brussels. Passing the 
Burgomaster’s house he saw an old hound sit- 
ting disconsolately on the doorstep. 

“Hello, friend!” said he. “What is the 
matter with you? You seem very sad this 
morning.” 

“The matter is that I am tired of life,” an- 
swered the dog. “I’m getting old and stiff 
and I can no longer hunt hares for my master 
as I used to do. The result is that I am reck- 
oned good for nothing and they grudge me 
every morsel of food I put into my mouth.” 

“Come, come, cheer up, my friend,” said 
Greyskin. “Never say die! I am in a sim- 
ilar case to yourself and have just left my 
master for precisely the same reason. My 
plan is to go to the Cathedral of St. Gudule 
and offer my services to the master of the 
choir. If I may say so without conceit, I have 
a lovely voice — one must make the most of 


172 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


one’s gifts, you know — and I ought to be able 
to command good pay.” 

“Well, if it comes to that,” said the dog, “I 
can sing, too. I sang a lovely song to the 
moon last night, and if you’ll believe me, all 
the people in our street opened their windows 
to listen. I sang for quite an hour, and I’d 
have gone on longer if some malicious person, 
who was no doubt jealous, had not thrown an 
old boot at my head.” 

“Excellent,” said Greyskin. “Come along 
with me. You shall sing tenor and I’ll sing 
bass. We’ll make a famous pair.” 

So the dog joined company with Greyskin, 
and they went on together towards Brussels. 
A little farther down the road they saw a cat 
sitting on the rubbish-heap outside a miserable 
hovel. The creature was half -blind with age, 
and had a face as long as a fiddle 

“Why, what is the matter with you?” asked 
Greyskin, who had a tender heart. 

“Matter enough,” said the cat. “I’ve just 
been turned out of house and home, and all 
because I took a little piece of bacon from the 
larder. Upon my honor, it was no bigger than 


THE CHORISTERS OF ST. GUDULE 173 

a baby’s fist, but they made as much fuss as 
though it had been a whole gammon. I was 
beaten and kicked out to starve. If I could 
catch mice as I used to do, it would not matter 
so much, but the mice are too quick for me now- 
adays. They laugh at me. Nothing remains 
for me but to die, and I hope it may be soon.” 

‘‘Nonsense,” said Greyskin. “You shall 
live to laugh at all your troubles. Come along 
with us and sing in the choir at St. Gudule. 
Your voice is a little too thin for my own taste, 
but you’ll make a very good soprano in a trio. 
What do you say?” 

“You give me new hopes,” answered the 
cat. “Of course I’ll join you,” and so the 
three went on together. 

Towards nightfall they arrived at a farm- 
yard, on the gate of which a cock was crowing 
lustily. 

“Hello!” said Greyskin. “What’s all this 
about?” 

“I am singing my last song on earth,” said 
the cock. “An hour ago I sang a song, al- 
though it is not my usual custom to crow in 
the afternoon, and as I ended I heard the 


174 STORIES ALWAYS NEW 

farmer’s wife say, ‘Harken to Chanticleer. 
He’s crowing for fine weather to-morrow. I 
wonder if he’d crow so loudly if he knew that 
we had guests coming, and that he was going 
into the pot to make their soup!’ She has a 
horrid laugh, that woman, I have always hated 
her!” 

“And do you mean to tell me,” said Grey- 
skin, “that you are going to stay here quite 
contentedly till they come to wring your 
neck?” 

“What else can I do?” asked Chanticleer. 

“Join us, and turn your talents to account. 
We are all beautiful singers and we are going 
to Brussels to offer ourselves as choristers at 
St. Gudule. We were a trio before. With 
you we shall be a quartet, and that’s one 
better!” 

Chanticleer was only too glad to find a 
means of escape, so he willingly joined the 
party, and they once more took the road. A 
little while afterwards they came to a thick 
wood, which was the haunt of a notorious band 
of robbers. There they decided to rest for the 
night, so Greyskin and the dog lay down be- 


THE CHORISTERS OF ST. GUDULE 175 

neath the shelter of a large beech-tree, while 
the cat climbed on to one of the branches, and 
Chanticleer perched himself at the very top. 
From this lofty post he could see over the 
whole wood, and it was not long before he es- 
pied a light, twinkling among the trees not far 
away. 

“There must he a house of some sort over 
there,” he said to his companions. “Shall we 
go and see? We may find something to eat.” 

“Or some straw to lie upon, at any rate,” 
said Greyskin. “This damp ground gives me 
rheumatics in my old bones.” 

“I was just thinking the same thing,” said 
the dog. “Let us go.” 

So the four choristers, led by the cock, 
walked in the direction from which the light 
came, and before long they found themselves 
in front of a little house, the windows of which 
were brilliantly lighted. In order to reach to 
the windows the animals made a tower of their 
bodies, with Greyskin at the bottom and Chan- 
ticleer at the top. 

Now this house was the abode of a band of 
robbers, who, at that very moment, were seated 


176 


ST0BIE8 ALWAYS NEW 


before a table laden with all kinds of food. 
There they sat and feasted, and poor Chanti- 
cleer’s mouth watered as he watched them. 

“Is there anybody inside?” asked the dog, 
who was impatient. 

“Hush!” said Chanticleer. “Men! They’re 
eating their dinner!” 

“I wish I were eating mine,” said the dog. 
“What are they eating?” 

“All sorts of things — sausage, and fish ...” 

“Sausage!” said the dog. 

“Fish!” said the cat. 

“And ever so many other delicacies,” Chan- 
ticleer went on. “Look here, friends. 
Wouldn’t it be a fine thing if we could get a 
share of their meal? I confess that my stom- 
ach aches with hunger.” 

“And mine, too,” said the dog. “I’ve never 
been so hungry in my life. But how are we 
to get the food?” 

“Let us serenade them, and perhaps they’ll 
throw us something as a reward,” said Grey- 
skin. “Music, you know, has charms to soothe 
the savage breast.” 

This seemed such a good idea that the chor- 


THE CH0R18TER8 OF 8T. GUDULE 177 

isters lost no time in putting it into execution. 
All four began to sing. The donkey hee- 
hawed, the dog howled, the cat miaued, and the 
cock crowed. From the noise they made one 
would have thought that the heavens were fall- 
ing. 

The effect of this marvelous quartet upon 
the robbers was instantaneous. Leaping 
from their seats, they ran from place to place 
in mortal terror, tumbling over one another, 
oversetting chairs and adding to the racket by 
their shrieks and cries. At that moment the 
cock fell against the window, breaking the 
glass to smithereenes ; the donkey gave the 
frame a push, and all the four precipitated 
themselves into the room. This was the last 
straw; the robbers could stand no more; half- 
mad with fear they rushed to the door and fled 
into the forest. 

Then our four choristers drew up to the 
table and set to work upon the food with which 
it was laden. Their long walk had given them 
a good appetite, so that there was little left 
by the time they had finished. Feeling drowsy 
after their meal, they then settled themselves 


178 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


to sleep. The donkey made himself a bed on 
a heap of straw in the yard ; the dog stretched 
himself out upon the mat by the house door; 
the cat lay among the warm cinders on the 
hearth; and the cock perched upon the roof- 
tree. A few minutes more and they were all 
fast asleep. 

Meanwhile the robbers, who had retreated 
some distance into the forest, waited anxiously 
for something dreadful to happen. An hour 
passed by and there was neither sight nor 
sound to alarm them, so they began to feel a 
little ashamed of their cowardice. Creeping 
stealthily nearer to the cottage, they saw that 
everything was still, and that no light was 
showing from the windows. 

At last the robber chief sent his lieutenant 
to spy out the land, and this man, returning 
to the cottage without mishap, found his way 
into the kitchen and proceeded to light a 
candle. He had no matches, but he saw two 
sparks of fire among the cinders on the hearth, 
so he went forward to get a light from them. 

Now this light came from the cat’s eyes, and 
as soon as puss felt the robber touch her, she 


THE CHORISTERS OF ST. GUDULE 179 

sprang up, snarling and spitting, and scratched 
his face. With a scream of terror, he dropped 
his candle and rushed for the door, and as he 
passed, the dog bit him in the leg. By this 
time the noise had awakened Greyskin, who 
got upon his feet just as the man ran by, and 
helped him forward with a mighty kick, which 
sent him flying out into the roadway. Seeing 
this, the cock on the housetop spread his wings 
and crowed in triumph, “Cock-a-doodle-do !” 

I wish you could have seen the way that 
robber ran! He covered the ground so 
quickly that he seemed like a flying shadow, 
and I am perfectly certain that not even a 
hare could have overtaken him. At last, 
panting for breath, he rejoined his comrades 
in the forest, who were eagerly awaiting his 
return. 

“Well,” cried the chief, ‘‘is the way clear? 
Can we go back?” 

“Not on any account,” cried the robber. 
‘There’s a horrible witch in the kitchen. 
Directly I entered, she sprang at me and tore 
my face with her long claws, calling out at the 
same time to her creatures to come and devour 


180 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


me. As I ran through the door one of them 
buried his fangs in my legs, and a little farther 
on, in the yard, a great black monster struck 
at me with an enormous club, giving me a 
blow that nearly broke my backbone. On the 
roof, a little demon, with wings and eyes that 
shone like coals of fire, cried, ‘Stop him! Eat 
him! Stop him! Eat him!’ You may guess 
that I did not wait for more. It is a miracle 
that I have escaped with my life!” 

When they heard this terrible story the rob- 
bers lost no time in decamping, and such was 
their terror that they deserted the forest al- 
together and went away to another part of the 
country. The result was that our four friends 
were left to dwell in the cottage, where they 
lived happily for the rest of their lives, and as 
they had now everything that they wanted, 
they gave up their idea of going to St. Gudule. 

(From Folk Tales of Flanders by Jean Bossch^re. Used 
by permission of Dodd, Mead and Company.) 


THE STORY OF KAREL AND 
PATOU 


Kakel was a little boy who lived with his 
father and mother, Father and Mother Maes, 
in the little village of Diest, in Belgium. He 
was nine years old when the war began; not 
very old, but he was already a great help to 
his father and mother. He fed the chickens, 
and hunted the eggs, and watered the vege- 
tables and pulled weeds in the garden, and 
did all sorts of useful things. He had never 
heard of soldiers and of war. He had no 
brothers and sisters; there were no other chil- 
dren of his own age living near with whom he 
could play, and he was often quite lonely. 

Late one afternoon, when it was beginning 
to grow dusk, he was working in the garden 
watering the vegetables; how he did hate the 
garden! In the heat of summer there was 
never a bit of shade there and the hot rays of 
the sun seemed to burn right through his little 
181 


182 


8T0BIE8 ALWAYS NEW 


hat. He hated to pull weeds — it was such 
tiresome work. The long rows of cabbages 
seemed to him but so many dull and stupid 
heads with no eyes to see — but most stupid of 
all, he thought the potatoes, that, with eyes to 
see, yet stayed down in the ground where 
there was nothing to be seen. And he had no 
liking for the peas, shut up in their little tight 
green houses with never a friendly door to open 
that one might see how many were inside. 
And now he hated it all more than ever. It 
seemed to him that he was the loneliest little 
boy in all Belgium, and he was thinking that 
if he only had a dog to sit close by while he 
pulled weeds, and to run back and forth with 
him when he brought water from the well — 
what fun it would be. 

And then he began to think of fairies — and 
of wishing-stones — and he wondered if there 
might not be a wishing-stone in that very gar- 
den, on which if he stood and wished ever so 
hard for a dog, he might not have his wish. 
He straightened up to look about him, and 
then — his eyes grew large and round with 
amazement — for there — standing just inside 


THE STORY OF KAREL AND PATOU 183 

the gate was — a dog! He stood with tail 
drooping, and anxiously lifting from the 
ground first one forepaw and then the other, 
as if in doubt whether to stay or to run away. 
Karel held out his hand and started to walk 
toward him. The dog began to tremble, and 
then he turned and ran out at the gate. 
“Why, he’s afraid of me!” said Karel. He 
went to the house and told Mother Maes about 
the dog and she gave him a dish of milk, and a 
bone, which he carried out and left just inside 
the gate. He did not see him again that night 
but next morning the dish was empty and the 
bone was gone. All that day Karel watched 
for the dog and late in the afternoon he looked 
up from his weeding and there he stood again, 
just inside the gate. As he looked, the dog 
sat up on his hind legs, his paws drooping, as 
if begging that no one would hurt him. “I 
wouldn’t hurt you, old fellow,” said Karel. 
He came quite close to the dog — but just as he 
reached out his hand to pat him — he ran away. 
That night, Karel left food near the gate for 
him, and the next night he came again, and sat 
up begging, his wistful brown eyes fixed on 


184 : 


8T0BIES ALWAYS NEW 


Karel’s kind little face. This time he did not 
run away, and when once Karel had laid his 
hand on him he had no fear, but followed him 
everywhere at his heels. And Karel named 
him — Patou. 

Soon Father and Mother Maes were almost 
as fond of Patou as Karel was. He was fed 
and petted by Mother Maes, and he ran in and 
out of the house as he pleased. At night he 
slept on a piece of carpet on the floor beside 
Karel’s bed — and if Karel awoke and spoke, 
a friendly tail would go thumping on the floor. 

And there were no more lonely days for 
Karel, with this new playfellow always with 
him. It was such fun to go back and forth 
watering the vegetables, with Patou dancing 
about him. The weeds seemed to come up 
more easily now that Patou sat near to watch. 
The vegetables all seemed so friendly ; he even 
began to like the cabbages, and sometimes, he 
almost imagined that he could hear the peas 
whispering together in their little houses. 
With Patou there, the garden was quite a dif- 
ferent place! 

One day. Father and Mother Maes and 


THE STORY OF KAREL AND PATOU 185 

Karel worked all day in the garden. Patou 
followed close at Karel’s heels everywhere that 
he went. At noon they had lunch, and after- 
ward Karel and Patou took a nap under a 
tree, and then back to the garden they went. 
When six o’clock came it was time to stop work 
in the garden. Karel shut up the chickens for 
the night. Father Maes fed the pig and milked 
the cow, and Mother Maes got the supper. 
When supper was ready. Father Maes and 
Karel came into the house and they sat down 
at the table. Father Maes said grace — and 
everything tasted so good, for they were very 
hungry. Patou, of course, had his bone. 
Karel was so tired and sleepy that more than 
once he nodded over his bowl of bread and 
milk. 

“Come, Karel,” said his mother, as soon as 
they had finished supper, “hurry to bed as fast 
as you can go. The sandman comes early 
to-night.” Karel climbed the stair to his little 
room under the eaves, Patou at his heels, and 
soon they were fast asleep. 

Such a long happy day as it had been! 

But the next day everything was changed. 


186 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


In the night they were awakened by the sound 
of horsemen riding down the street and shout- 
ing, ‘‘Awake! Awake, Burghers!” And 
then the bell in the church steeple began to 
ring. 

Father and Mother Maes sprang out of bed, 
awakened Karel, and they dressed and ran into 
the street — Father and Mother Maes and 
Karel and Patou. They found all of the peo- 
ple of the village hurrying toward the square. 

On the steps of the Town Hall stood the 
Burgomaster. He said, “Friends, there is bad 
news! It is of war. The army of the Ger- 
mans is even now at our border. You are 
needed to defend your country. You are 
called by your king to go at once to Brussels. 
Do not stop — but go at once.” For a mo- 
ment no one spoke or made a sound. It had 
all happened so suddenly. And then the men 
turned and looked at their wives and children. 
Some of the women began to cry, and the 
little children clung to their mothers’ skirts 
and cried too; not knowing why — but because 
their mothers did. 

Father Maes stood as if dazed, and then he 


TEE STORY OF KAREL AND PATOU 187 

turned to Mother Maes and Karel and said, 
“It will be for only a little time; I shall soon 
come back.’’ 

He laid his hand on Karel’s head and said, 
“And now, my son, you must be the man of 
the house and help your mother. You must 
be as brave as a soldier, even though you can- 
not fight. Our country needs brave boys as 
well as men.” 

The farewells were soon said and the men 
started down the road — Mother Maes and 
Karel smiling bravely through their tears at 
Father Maes — and Patou standing close be- 
side his little master. Once, Father Maes 
turned and waved his hand at them. When 
he was out of sight Mother Maes began to cry. 
But only for a moment, and then she stopped 
crying and tried to smile again, and she said, 
“Whatever happens, we must remember that 
we are Belgians and be brave. Is it not so, 
Karel?” For like all Belgian mothers, 
Mother Maes was a brave little woman. 

Mother Maes and Karel and Patou went 
back to the house and had breakfast. After 
they had eaten. Mother Maes fed and milked 


188 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


the cow, and Karel fed the chickens and the 
pig. It was very hard for him to lift the 
heavy pail of feed and pour it into the trough, 
but Karel thought of what his father had said 
— that he must be the man of the house — and 
he did the best that he could. He only spilled 
a little of the feed on his wooden shoes, which 
really did no harm — and there was no one 
near but Patou to see. Mother Maes and 
Karel were so tired that they did not do much 
work that day. They worked a while in the 
garden, and did the necessary things and went 
to bed almost before it was quite dark. 

The next day they worked all day in the 
garden. After supper they walked down the 
street to talk with their neighbors — and the 
talk was all of the war. And the news was 
not good; the German army had crossed the 
frontier and was coming toward Diest. 

That night Mother Maes and Karel talked 
of what might happen should the German 
army reach Diest. “We can only trust God,” 
said Mother Maes. “If we should become 
separated, remember that Mother will surely 
find you again. And you must always re- 


TEE STORY OF KAREL AND PATOU 189 

member that you are the son of a brave 
Belgian soldier, and that you, too, must be 
brave.” 

The next morning they awoke early. The 
sun shone so brightly that it did not seem as 
if anything could be wrong anywhere. After 
breakfast. Mother Maes said, “We will begin 
to dig the potatoes to-day.” Karel got the 
hoe and the fork and they went into the gar- 
den. Mother Maes dug the potatoes and 
Karel followed her down the rows and picked 
them up and threw them into a basket. Patou 
lay near by watching them. 

Suddenly, Mother Maes glanced down the 
road and she cried, “Look! Look!” Karel 
looked, and he saw, what seemed to him, an 
endless line of soldiers on horseback. The 
German army was coming! Karel and his 
mother stood and watched them; there was 
nothing else to do. Soon a great many of 
the soldiers — tall men, wearing strange peaked 
helmets and gray uniforms — came walk- 
ing down the road. When they saw Mother 
Maes and Karel, two of them came in at the 
gate. One of them took Mother Maes 


190 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


roughly by the arm and marched her out of 
the garden. The other laid a heavy hand on 
Karel’s shoulder to hurry him after bis mother 
— and then — Patou, with a growl, sprang at 
the soldier and bit him. The soldier kicked 
Patou, and with a howl, poor Patou rolled over 
on the ground and lay still. Karel screamed 
and struggled to get away, but the soldier hur- 
ried him along, and soon he found himself in 
the midst of a crowd of women and children — 
some of them neighbors, and others whom he 
had never before seen; the soldiers shouting 
to them to hurry along to the public square. 
He could not see his mother. Karel lagged a 
bit and the soldier shook him — and then, in 
some way, he slipped from a soldier’s grasp, 
tripped and fell, rolled over to the side of the 
road, and was left behind. The long line of 
women and children continued to pass but 
Karel lay quite still. After a while he got up 
and crept away unnoticed into the field and 
hid behind a haystack not far from the road. 
He was lonely and frightened. He thought 
that he would stay hidden until dusk and then 
he would go home — perhaps his mother might 


TEE STORY OF KAREL AND PATOU 191 

come back there — and, at least, Patou would 
be there. Poor Patou! 

Once, he went out to the road to look for 
Mother Maes but there was no one to be seen 
but some German soldiers and he did not dare 
to question them and so he went back to the 
haystack and lay down on the hay. He was 
so tired that soon he fell asleep. When he 
awoke it was dusk. Slowly he found his way 
home. The house was in darkness. When he 
came to the gate he heard a soft bark and a 
whine. It was Patou! There on the ground, 
just inside the gate, he lay. 

“Oh, Patou! Patou!” he cried. 

The dog struggled to his feet and tried his 
best to walk but he could not. Karel knelt 
on the ground beside him. Patou’s leg was 
hurt. 

In some way Karel managed to carry him 
to the house. The doors stood wide open. 

“Mother! Mother!” he cried, but no one 
answered. His mother was not there. 

He carried Patou into the house and band- 
aged his leg the best that he could. By this 
time it was quite dark but he did not dare to 


192 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


light a candle. He ate some bread and cheese 
and gave a bone to Patou, and then he went 
out of doors to look about. The cow and the 
pig were gone — there was not even a chicken 
left on the place. He looked down the street 
— there were no lights and no one in sight. 
He and Patou were all alone. He went into 
the house and lay down on the floor beside 
Patou. 

The next morning before daylight, he took 
out to the barn enough food and water for the 
day, and then he carried Patou out there and 
they hid in the hay. He was afraid that the 
soldiers might come again. 

That evening at dusk he started to go to the 
house for food and water. When he had gone 
but a few steps he heard Patou whine. He 
turned and saw that the dog was trying to get 
to his feet to follow him. He went back and 
tucked him snugly into the hay and patted 
him on the head. Then he took off his hat 
and laid it on the hay and said, “My hat, 
Patou. Watch it until I come back!” Patou 
lay quite still as if he understood. 

For several days they stayed there in the 


TEE STORY OF KAREL AND PATOU 193 

barn ; Karel going every night to the house for 
food and water. Once, a company of Ger- 
man soldiers passed down the road, but they 
did not know of the little boy and the dog hid- 
den in the barn. Each day Karel hoped that 
his mother would come, but she did not. The 
days were very long and lonely. 

After a while Patou began to walk about 
a little on three legs, and Karel knew that their 
supply of food would soon be gone and he felt 
that they must be going on. And then, too, 
he must look for his mother. And so, one 
night, they started, Karel taking as much food 
as he could carry, and Patou limping along the 
best that he could, with his lame leg. They 
traveled sometimes by day, but mostly by 
night, and after a few days they no longer 
saw German soldiers, but met kind people who 
gave them food. And they were always look- 
ing for Mother Maes — but they did not find 
her. 

And then, one day they came in sight of 
long rows of tents and they saw many soldiers 
in Belgian uniform. Two of the soldiers 
whom they first met were Americans. When 


194 STORIES ALWAYS NEW 

the Americans saw Karel and Patou, one of 
them said, “See the little fellow and the lame 
dog!” Karel and Patou were, indeed, a sorry 
sight; Karel was pale and ragged and dirty; 
and poor, thin Patou limped along on three 
legs. 

The soldiers asked Karel his name and 
where he was going. Karel told them of 
Father and Mother Maes, of the coming of the 
German soldiers and of how Patou had tried 
to defend his master, and of how they had come 
such a long way alone and how hard it had been 
for Patou to walk, and of how they had looked 
for Mother Maes and could not find her. 
And — last of all — ^he said, “But I must be 
brave because Father said that even though 
I cannot fight I must be as brave as a soldier. 
And Mother said that I must never forget that 
I am the son of a Belgian soldier.” 

“You and Patou are both brave Belgians,” 
said the soldiers. 

Karel and Patou were taken to a tent where 
they were fed and cared for, and Patou’s leg 
was properly bandaged. And the two Amer- 
icans decided to adopt Karel and Patou, but 


THE STORY OP KAREL AND PATOU 195 

it was not safe for them to stay there with 
them and so they were sent to the Red Cross 
Headquarters in Brussels. There they found 
a great many other little Belgian boys and 
girls who had become separated from their 
parents. Karel was given a white bed in a 
long room with other children, and soon he and 
Patou were great friends with the nurses and 
children, and, with good food and care, Karel’s 
cheeks grew plump and rosy, and Patou’s leg 
became well, and once more he ran leaping and 
barking at his little master’s heels. 

And every day they went out to look in the 
streets of the city for Mother Maes. So many 
mothers they saw, who had lost their little chil- 
dren — but no Mother Maes. Karel became 
quite discouraged. 

And then, one day, when they were out 
walking, suddenly, Patou gave a joyous bark, 
and away he ran toward a woman who was 
coming down the street. When he reached 
her, he sprang upon her, barking and wagging 
his tail. And Karel saw that it was — his 
mother! She saw him and stood with out- 
stretched arms. 


196 


STORIES ALWAYS NEW 


For a moment she held him close to her 
heart. And then he looked up and said, “Oh, 
Mother, it was Patou who found you!” 

His mother told him that she had searched 
everywhere for him but that she could not find 
him. She told him that his father had been 
wounded and was in a hospital not far away. 
And, before many days, Karel and Patou 
went to the hospital to see Father Maes. He 
had been wounded in the leg and would get 
well, but he would never again be able to fight 
for Belgium. 

And if you have never been a long time away 
from your father and mother you cannot know 
how happy Karel was. 

As soon as Father Maes was well enough to 
leave the hospital, they went back to their 
home in Diest. Many of the houses in the 
village had been destroyed by the German 
army, but fortunately Father Maes’ home had 
been left standing. The first day, Karel and 
Patou were so glad to be home once more that 
they went racing about looking at everything 
— Karel was even glad to see the cabbages that 
he had once so hated. 


THE STORY OF KAREL AND PATOU 197 


And so, F ather and Mother Maes and Karel 
and Patou are living in their own little home in 
Diest. Karel often has letters from the two 
American soldiers who adopted him and 
Patou, and they sent to Karel an American 
flag, which he proudly hung beside the flag of 
Belgium, for which his father had fought. 

(Told by the Story-teller.) 


THE END 



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